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POLLY ANN A GROWS VP 


BY THE AUTHOR 

OF 

POLLYANNA: THE GLAD BOOK 

Trade Mark Trade “Mark 

X 

POLLYANNA: THE GLAD BOOK - $1.75 

Trade Mark Trade Mark 

POLLYANNA GROWS UP: THE SECOND 

Trade Mark 

GLAD (BOOK - - - $1.75 

Trad e ■ " “Mark 


THE POLLYANNA GLAD BOOK CALENDAR 

Trade Mark Trade 1 Mark 



$1.75 

SIX STAR RANCH - 

- $1.75 

MISS (BILLY - 

- $1.75 

MISS BILLY’S DECISION 

- - $1.75 

MISS (BILLY—MARRIED 

- $1.75 

CROSS CURRENTS - 

- $1.35 

THE TURN OF THE TIDE 

- $1.35 


3b 


THE PAGE COMPANY 
53 Beacon Street, Boston, Mass. 














JIMMY LOOKED DOWN AT THE WISTFUL, EAGER FACE.” 

(See page 184.) 















^he Second Qlad Book 

Trade-2-Mark 

POLLY ANN A 
GROWS UP 

'LL 

fByELEANO% H. PORT Eli 

*» 

Author of “ Pollyanna: The Glad Book,” ” Mite Billy,” 

Trade Mark 

“Mite Billy’s Decision,” “Miss Billyh—Maaried,’^ 

“ Cross Currents,” “ The Turn of the Tide,” etc/ 


Illustrated by 

H\ WESTON TAYLOR 



BOSTON THE PAGE 

COMPANY PUBLISHERS 















/ 



Copyright, 1914, 19*5 
By Eleanor H. Porter 

Copyright, 1915 
By The Page Company 

All rights reserved 


First Impression, March, 1915 
Second Impression, April, 1915 
Third Impression, May, 1915 
Fourth Impression, September, 1915 
Fifth Impression, October, 1915 
Sixth Impression, December, 1915 
Seventh Impression, January, 1916 
Eighth Impression, September, 1916 
Ninth Impression, April, 1917 
Tenth Impression, February, 1918 
Eleventh Impression, October, 1918 
Twelfth Impression, March, 1919 
Thirteenth Impression, September, 1919 
Fourteenth Impression, December, 1919 
(225th Thousand) 


THE COLONIAL PRESS 
C. H. SIMONDS CO., BOSTON, U. S. A. 


t 


TO 

UHg (Emtsttt 31 alter 






































CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I. 

Della Speaks Her Mind . 


• 


PAGE 

I 

II. 

Some Old Friends 


• 


12 

III. 

A Dose of Pollyanna 

. 



2 7 

IV. 

The Game and Mrs. Carew 

. 



38 

V. 

Pollyanna Takes a Walk 

. 



47 

VI. 

Jerry to the Rescue 

. 



66 

VII. 

A New Acquaintance 

. 



76 

VIII. 

Jamie. 

. 



85 

IX. 

Plans and Plottings . 

. 



96 

X, 

In Murphy’s Alley . 




105 

XI. 

A Surprise for Mrs. Carew 

. 



117 

XII. 

From Behind a Counter . 

. 



126 

XIII. 

A Waiting and a Winning 




135 

XIV. 

Jimmy and the Green-eyed Monster 


148 

XV. 

Aunt Polly Takes Alarm 




iS 5 

XVI. 

When Pollyanna Was Expected 



161 

XVII. 

When Pollyanna Came 

. 



172 

XVIII. 

A Matter of Adjustment. 

. 



183 

XIX. 

Two Letters 

. 



191 

XX. 

The Paying Guests . 

. 



201 

XXI. 

Summer Days. 




210 

XXII. 

Comrades .... 




219 









viii 

Contents 



CHAPTER 

XXIII. 

“ Tied to Two Sticks ” . 


PAGE 

. 229 

XXIV. 

Jimmy Wakes Up . 

. 

• 234 

XXV. 

The Game and Pollyanna 

. 

. 244 

XXVI. 

John Pendleton . 

. 

• 254 

XXVII. 

The Day Pollyanna Did Not Play 

. 26l 

XXVIII. 

Jimmy and Jamie . 

. 

. 269 

XXIX. 

Jimmy and John . 

. 

. 277 

XXX. 

John Pendleton Turns the 

Key . 

. 284 

XXXI. 

After Long Years 

• • 

. 29I 

XXXII. 

A New Aladdin . j . 

• • 

• 303 






LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


-#- 

PAGE 

“ Jimmy looked down at the wistful, eager 

face ” (See page 184 ) . . Frontispiece 

“ ‘ Oh, my ! what a perfectly lovely auto¬ 
mobile !’” . . . . *30 

“Twice again, after short intervals, she 

TROD THE FASCINATING WAY ” . . t . 67 

“ It WAS A WONDERFUL HOUR ” . .84 

“ * I don’t KNOW HER NAME YET, BUT I KNOW 

her, so it’s all right ’ ” . . . .132 

“ * The instrument that you play on, polly- 

ANNA, WILL BE THE GREAT HEART OF THE 
WORLD *” ...... 22 5 

“ Involuntarily she turned as if to flee ” . 284 

“ ‘ I’m glad, glad, glad for — everything 

NOW ! ’ ” M, ..J i»j l«j . 307 













* 

















































































































































































































































































































































































POLLYANNA GROWS UP 


CHAPTER I 

DELLA SPEAKS HER MIND 

Della Wetherby tripped up the somewhat im¬ 
posing steps of her sister’s Commonwealth Avenue 
home and pressed an energetic finger against the 
electric-bell button. From the tip of her wing- 
trimmed hat to the toe of her low-heeled shoe she 
radiated health, capability, and alert decision. Even 
her voice, as she greeted the maid that opened the 
door, vibrated with the joy of living. 

“ Good morning, Mary. Is my sister in ? ” 

“ Y-yes, ma’am, Mrs. Carew is in,” hesitated the 
girl; “ but — she gave orders she’d see no one.” 

“ Did she? Well, I’m no one,” smiled Miss Weth¬ 
erby, “ so she’ll see me. Don’t worry — I’ll take the 
blame,” she nodded, in answer to the frightened re¬ 
monstrance in the girl’s eyes. “ Where is she — in 
her sitting-room ? ” 

“ Y-yes, ma’am; but — that is, she said — ” Miss 

l 



Pollyanna Grows Up 


% 

Wetherby, however, was already halfway up the broad 
stairway; and, with a despairing backward glance, 
the maid turned away. 

In the hall above Della Wetherby unhesitatingly 
walked toward a half-open door, and knocked. 

“ Well, Mary,” answered a “ dear-me^what-now ” 
voice. “ Haven’t I — Oh, Della! ” The voice grew 
suddenly warm with love and surprise. “ You dear 
girl, where did you come from ? ” 

“ Yes, it’s Della,” smiled that young woman, 
blithely, already halfway across the room. “ I’ve 
come from an over-Sunday at the beach with two of 
the other nurses, and I’m on my way back to the 
Sanatorium now. That is, I’m here now, but I sha’n’t 
be long. I stepped in for — this,” she finished, giving 
the owner of the “ dear-me-what-now ” voice a hearty 
kiss. 

Mrs. Carew frowned and drew back a little coldly. 
The slight touch of joy and animation that had come 
into her face fled, leaving only a dispirited fretful¬ 
ness that was plainly very much at home there. 

“ Oh, of course! I might have known,” she said. 
“ You never stay — here.” 

“Here!” Della Wetherby laughed merrily, and 
threw up her hands; then, abruptly, her voice and 
manner changed. She regarded her sister with grave, 
tender eyes. “ Ruth, dear, I couldn’t — I just couldn’t 
live in this house. You know I couldn’t,” she finished 
gently. 

Mrs. Carew stirred irritably. 

“ I’m sure I don’t see why not,” she fenced. 





Della Speaks Her Mind S 


Della Wetherby shook her head. 

“ Yes, you do, dear. You know I’m entirely out 
of sympathy with it all: the gloom, the lack of aim, 
the insistence on misery and bitterness.” 

“ But I am miserable and bitter.” 

“ You ought not to be.” 

“ Why not ? What have I to make me otherwise ? ” 

Della Wetherby gave an impatient gesture. 

“ Ruth, look here,” she challenged. “ You’re thirty- 
three years old. You have good health—or would 
have, if you treated yourself properly — and you cer¬ 
tainly have an abundance of time and a superabun¬ 
dance of money. Surely anybody would say you 
ought to find something to do this glorious morning 
besides sitting moped up in this tomb-like house with 
instructions to the maid that you’ll see no one.” 

“ But I don’t want to see anybody.” 

“ Then I’d make myself want to.” 

Mrs. Carew sighed wearily and turned away her 
head. 

“ Oh, Della, why won’t you ever understand? I’m 
not like you. I can’t — forget.” 

A swift pain crossed the younger woman’s face. 

“ You mean — Jamie, I suppose. I don’t forget — 
that, dear. I couldn’t, of course. But moping won’t 
help us — find him.” 

“As if I hadn’t tried to find him, for eight long 
years —and by something besides moping,” flashed 
Mrs. Carew, indignantly, with a sob in her voice. 

“Of course you have, dear,” soothed the other, 
quickly; “ and we shall keep on hunting, both of us, 





4 Pollyanna Grows Up 

till we do find him — or die. But this sort of thing 
doesn’t help.” 

“ But I don’t want to do — anything else,” mur¬ 
mured Ruth Carew, drearily. 

\For a moment there was silence. The younger 
woman sat regarding her sister with troubled, disap¬ 
proving eyes. 

“ Ruth,” she said, at last, with a touch of exasper¬ 
ation, “ forgive me, but — are you always going to 
be like this? You’re widowed, I’ll admit; but your 
married life lasted only a year, and your husband was 
much older than yourself. You were little more than 
a child at the time, and that one short year can’t seem 
much more than a dream now. Surely that ought not 
to embitter your whole life! ” 

“ No, oh, no,” murmured Mrs. Carew, still drearily. 
“ Then are you going to be always like this ? ” 

“ Well, of course, if I could find Jamie — ” 

“ Yes, yes, I know; but, Ruth, dear, isn’t there 
anything in the world but Jamie — to make you any 
happy? ” 

“ There doesn’t seem to be, that I can think of,” 
sighed Mrs. Carew, indifferently. 

“Ruth!” ejaculated her sister, stung into some¬ 
thing very like anger. Then suddenly she laughed. 
“ Oh, Ruth, Ruth, I’d like to give you a dose of Polly¬ 
anna. I don’t know any one who needs it more! ” 
Mrs. Carew stiffened a little. 

“ Well, what pollyanna may be I don’t know, but 
whatever it is, I don’t want it,” she retorted sharply, 
nettled in her turn, “ This isn’t your beloved Sana,' 



Della Speaks Her Mind 


5 


torium, and I’m not your patient to be dosed and 
bossed, please remember.” 

Della Wetherby’s eyes danced, but her lips remained 
unsmiling. 

“ Pollyanna isn’t a medicine, my dear,” she said 
demurely, “ — though I have heard some people call 
her a tonic. Polly anna is a little girl.” 

“A child? Well, how should I know,” retorted 
the other, still aggrievedly. “ You have your ‘ bella¬ 
donna,’ so I’m sure I don’t see why not 4 pollyanna.’ 
Besides, you’re always recommending something for 
me to take, and you distinctly said ‘ dose ’ — and dose 
usually means medicine, of a sort.” 

“Well, Pollyanna is a medicine — of a sort,” 
smiled Della. “ Anyway, the Sanatorium doctors all 
declare that she’s better than any medicine they can 
give. She’s a little girl, Ruth, twelve or thirteen years 
old, who was at the Sanatorium all last summer and 
most of the winter. I didn’t see her but a month or 
two, for she left soon after I arrived. But that was 
long enough for me to come fully under her spell. 
Besides, the whole Sanatorium is still talking Polly¬ 
anna, and playing her game.” 

“ Game! ” 

“ Yes,” nodded Della, with a curious smile. “ Her 
4 glad game.’ I’ll never forget my first introduction 
to it. One feature of her treatment was particularly 
disagreeable and even painful. It came every Tuesday 
morning, and very soon after my arrival it fell to my 
lot to give it to her. I was dreading it, for I knew 
from past experience with other children what to 



6 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


expect: fretfulness and tears, if nothing worse. To 
my unbounded amazement she greeted me with a smile 
and said she was glad to see me; and, if you’ll believe 
it, there was never so much as a whimper from her 
lips through the whole ordeal, though I knew I was 
hurting her cruelly. 

“ I fancy I must have said something that showed 
my surprise, for she explained earnestly: ‘ Oh, yes, I 
used to feel that way, too, and I did dread it so, till 
I happened to think ’twas just like Nancy’s wash-days, 
and I could be gladdest of all on Tuesdays, ’cause 
there wouldn’t be another one for a whole week.’ ” 

“ Why, how extraordinary! ” frowned Mrs. Carew, 
not quite comprehending. “ But, I’m sure I don’t see 
any game to that.” 

“ No, I didn’t, till later. Then she told me. It 
seems she was the motherless daughter of a poor min¬ 
ister in the West, and was brought up by the Ladies’ 
Aid Society and -missionary barrels. When she was 
a tiny girl she wanted, a doll, and confidently expected 
it in the next barrel; but there turned out to be noth¬ 
ing but a pair of little crutches. 

“ The child cried, of course., and it was then that 
her father taught her the game of hunting for some¬ 
thing to be glad about, in everything that happened; 
and he said she could begin right then by being glad 
she didn’t need the crutches. That was the beginning. 
Pollyanna said it was a lovely game, and she’d been 
playing it ever since; and that the harder it was to 
find the glad part, the more fun it was, only when it 
was too awful hard, like she had found it sometimes,” 



Della Speaks Her Mind 


7 


“Why, how extraordinary!” murmured Mrs. Ca- 
rew, still not entirely comprehending. 

“ You’d think so — if you could see the results of 
that game in the Sanatorium,” nodded Della; “and 
Dr. Ames says he hears she’s revolutionized the whole 
town where she came from, just the same way. He 
knows Dr. Chilton very well — the man that married 
Pollyanna’s aunt. And, by the way, I believe that 
marriage was one of her ministrations. She patched 
up an old lovers’ quarrel between them. 

“ You see, two years ago, or more, Pollyanna’s 
father died, and the little girl was sent East to this 
aunt. In October she was hurt by an automobile, and 
was told she could never walk again. In April Dr. 
Chilton sent her to the Sanatorium, and she was there 
till last March — almost a year. She went home prac¬ 
tically cured. You should have seen the child! There 
was just one cloud to mar her happiness: that she 
couldn’t walk all the way there. As near as I can 
gather, the whole town turned out to meet her with 
brass bands and banners. 

“ But you can’t tell about Pollyanna. One has to 
see her. And that’s why I say I wish you could have 
a dose of Pbllyanna. It would do you a world of 
good.” 

Mrs. Carew lifted her chin a little. 

“ Really, indeed, I must say I beg to differ with 
you,” she returned coldly. “ I don’t care to be ‘ revo¬ 
lutionized,’ and I have no lovers’ quarrel to be patched 
up; and if there is anything that would be insufferable 
to me, it would be a little Miss Prim with a long face 



8 


Polly anna Grows Up 


preaching to me how much I had to be thankful for. 
I never could bear — ” But a ringing laugh inter¬ 
rupted her. 

“Oh, Ruth, Ruth,” choked her sister, gleefully. 
“ Miss Prim, indeed — Pollyanna! Oh, oh, if only 
you could see that child now ! But there, I might have 
known. I said one couldn’t tell about Pollyanna. And 
of course you won’t be apt to see her. But — Miss 
Prim, indeed! ” And off she went into another gale 
of laughter. Almost at once, however, she sobered 
and gazed at her sister with the old troubled look in 
her eyes. 

“ Seriously, dear, can’t anything be done ? ” she 
pleaded. “ You ought not to waste your life like this. 
Won’t you try to get out a little more, and — meet 
people ? ” 

“ Why should I, when I don’t want to? I’m tired 
of — people. You know society always bored me.” 

“ Then why not try some sort of work — charity? ” 

Mrs. Carew gave an impatient gesture. 

“ Della, dear, we’ve been all over this before. I do 
give money — lots of it, and that’s enough. In fact, 
I’m not sure but it’s too much. I don’t believe in 
pauperizing people.” 

“ But if you’d give a little of yourself, dear,” ven¬ 
tured Della, gently. “If you could only get interested 
in something outside of your own life, it would help 
so much; and — ” 

“ Now, Della, dear,” interrupted the elder sister, 
restively, “ I love you, and I love to have you come 
here; but I simply cannot endure being preached to. 



Della Speaks Her Mind 


9 


It’s all very well for you to turn yourself into an angel 
of mercy and give cups of cold water, and bandage up 
broken heads, and all that. Perhaps you can forget 
Jamie that way; but I couldn’t. It would only make 
me think of him all the more, wondering if he had any 
one to give him water and bandage up his head. Be¬ 
sides, the whole thing would be very distasteful to me 
— mixing with all sorts and kinds of people like that.” 

“ Did you ever try it ? ” 

“ Why, no, of course not!” Mrs. Carew’s voice 
was scornfully indignant. 

“ Then how can you knoiw — till you do try ? ” 
asked the young nurse, rising to her feet a little wear¬ 
ily. “ But I must go, dear. I’m to meet the girls at 
the South Station. Our train goes at twelve-thirty. 
I’m sorry if I’ve made you cross with me,” she fin¬ 
ished, as she kissed her sister good-by. 

“ I’m not cross with you, Della,” sighed Mrs. Ca- 
rew; “but if you only would understand!” 

One minute later Della Wetherby made her way 
through the silent, gloomy halls, and out to the street. 
Face, step, and manner were very different from what 
they had been when she tripped up the steps less than 
half an hour before. All the alertness, the springiness, 
the joy of living were gone. For half a block she 
listlessly dragged one foot after the other. Then, 
suddenly, she threw back her head and drew a long 
breath. 

“ One week in that house would kill me,” she shud¬ 
dered. “ I don’t believe even Pollyanna herself could 
so much as make a dent in the gloom! And the only 





m 


ronyanna Grows Up 


thing she could be glad for there would be that she 
didn’t have to stay.” 

That this avowed disbelief in Pollyanna’s ability 
to bring about a change for the better in Mrs. Carew’s 
home was not Della Wetherby’s real opinion, however, 
was quickly proved; for no sooner had the nurse 
reached the Sanatorium than she learned something 
that sent her flying back over the fifty-mile journey 
to Boston the very next day. 

So exactly as before did she find circumstances at 
her sister’s home that it seemed almost as if Mrs. 
Carew had not moved since she left her. 

“ Ruth,” she burst out eagerly, after answering her 
sister’s surprised greeting, “ I just had to come, and 
you must, this once, yield to me and let me have my 
way. Listen! You can have that little Pollyanna 
here, I think, if you will.” 

“ But I won’t,” returned Mrs. Carew, with chilly 
promptness. 

Della Wetherby did not seem to have heard. She 
plunged on excitedly. 

“ When I got back yesterday I found that Dr. 
Ames had had a letter from Dr. Chilton, the one who 
married Pollyanna’s aunt, you know. Well, it seems i; 
in it he said he was going to Germany for the winter 
for a special course, and was going to take his wife 
with him, if he could persuade her that Pollyanna 
would be all right in some boarding school here mean¬ 
time. But Mrs. Chilton didn’t want to leave Polly- j 
anna in just a school, and so he was afraid she 
wouldn’t go. And now, Ruth, there’s our chance. I 




Della Speaks Her Mind li 


Want you to take Pollyanna this winter, and let her 
go to some school around here.” 

“ What an absurd idea, Della! As if I wanted a 
child here to bother with! ” 

“ She won’t bother a bit. She must be nearly or 
quite thirteen by this time, and she’s the most capable 
little thing you ever saw.” 

“ I don’t like 4 capable ’ children,” retorted Mrs. 
Carew perversely — but she laughed; and because she 
did laugh, her sister took sudden courage and re¬ 
doubled her efforts. 

Perhaps it was the suddenness of the appeal, or the 
novelty of it. Perhaps it was because the story of 
Pollyanna had somehow touched Ruth Carew’s heart. 
Perhaps it. was only her unwillingness to refuse her 
sister’s impassioned plea. Whatever it was that finally 
turned the scale, when Della Wetherby took her hur¬ 
ried leave half an hour later, she carried with her Ruth 
Carew’s promise to receive Pollyanna into her home. 

“ But just remember,” Mrs. Carew warned her at 
parting, “ just remember that the minute that child 
begins to preach to me and to tell me to count my 
mercies, back she goes to you, and you may do what 
you please with her. / sha’n’t keep her! ” 

“ I’ll remember — but I’m not worrying any,” 
nodded the younger woman, in farewell. To herself 
she whispered, as she hurried away from the house: 
“ Half my job is done. Now for the other half — to 
get Pollyanna to come. But she’s just got to come. 
I’ll write that letter so they can’t help letting her 
come! ” 



CHAPTER II 


SOME OLD FRIENDS 

In Beldingsville that August day, Mrs. Chilton 
waited until Pollyanna had gone to bed before she 
spoke to her husband about the letter that had come 
in the morning mail. For that matter, she would have 
had to wait, anyway, for crowded office hours, and the 
doctor’s two long drives over the hills had left no 
time for domestic conferences. 

It was about half-past nine, indeed, when the doctor 
entered his wife’s sitting-room. His tired face lighted 
at sight of her, but at once a perplexed questioning 
came to his eyes. 

“ Why, Polly, dear, what is it ? ” he asked con¬ 
cernedly. 

His wife gave a rueful laugh. 

“ Well, it’s a letter — though I didn’t mean you 
should find out by just looking at me.” 

“ Then you mustn’t look so I can,” he smiled. “ But 
what is it? ” 

Mrs. Chilton hesitated, pursed her lips, then picked 
up a letter near her. 

“ I’ll read it to you,” she said. “ It’s from a Miss 
Della Wetherby at Dr. Ames’ Sanatorium.” 

“ All right, Fire away,” directed the man, throw- 
12 



Some Old Friends 


13 


ing himself at full length on to the couch near his 
wife’s chair. 

But his wife did not at once “ fire away.” She got 
up first and covered her husband’s recumbent figure 
with a gray worsted afghan. Mrs. Chilton’s wedding 
day was but a year behind her. She was forty-two 
now. It seemed sometimes as if into that one short 
year of wifehood she had tried to crowd all the loving 
service and “ babying ” that had been accumulating 
through twenty years of lovelessness and loneliness. 
Nor did the doctor — who had been forty-five on his 
wedding day, and who could remember nothing but 
loneliness and lovelessness — on his part object in the 
least to this concentrated “ tending.” He acted, in¬ 
deed, as if he quite enjoyed it — though he was care¬ 
ful not to show it too ardently: he had discovered 
that Mrs. Polly had for so long been Miss Polly that 
she was inclined to retreat in a panic and dub her 
ministrations “ silly,” if they were received with too 
much notice and eagerness. So he contented himself 
now with a mere pat of her hand as she gave the 
afghan a final smooth, and settled herself to read the 
letter aloud. 

“ My dear Mrs. Chilton,” Della Wetherby had writ¬ 
ten. “ Just six times I have commenced a letter to 
you, and torn it up; so now I have decided not to 
‘ commence ’ at all, but just to tell you what I want 
at once. I want Pollyanna. May I have her? 

“ I met you and your husband last March when you 
came on to take Pollyanna home, but I presume you 
don’t remember me. I am asking Dr. Ames (who 




14 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


does know me very well) to write your husband, so 
that you may (I hope) not fear to trust your dear 
little niece to us. 

“ I understand that you would go to Germany with 
your husband but for leaving Pollyanna; and so I 
am making so bold as to ask you to let us take her. 
Indeed, I am begging you to let us have her, dear Mrs. 
Chilton. And now let me tell you why. 

“ My sister, Mrs. Carew, is a lonely, broken¬ 
hearted, discontented, unhappy woman. She lives in 
a world of gloom, into which no sunshine penetrates. 
Now I believe that if anything on earth can bring the 
sunshine into her life, it is your niece, Pollyanna. 
Won’t you let her try? I wish I could tell you what 
she has done for the Sanatorium here, but nobody 
could tell. You 'would have to see it. I long ago dis¬ 
covered that you can’t tell about Pollyanna. The 
minute you try to, she sounds priggish and preachy, 
and — impossible. Yet you and I know she is any¬ 
thing but that. You just have to bring Pollyanna on 
to the scene and let her speak for herself. And so I 
want to take her to my sister — and let her speak for 
herself. She would attend school, of course, but 
meanwhile I truly believe she would be healing the 
wound in my sister’s heart. 

“ I don’t know how to end this letter. I believe it’s 
harder than it was to begin it. I’m afraid I don’t 
want to end it at all. I just want to keep talking and 
talking, for fear, if I stop, it’ll give you a chance to 
say no. And so, if you are tempted to say that dread¬ 
ful word, won’t you please consider that — that I’m 




Some Old Friends 


15 


still talking-, and telling you how much we want and 
need Pollyanna. 

“ Hopefully yours, 

“ Della Wetherby.” 

“ There! ” ejaculated Mrs. Chilton, as she laid the 
letter down. “ Did you ever read such a remarkable 
letter, or hear of a more preposterous, absurd re¬ 
quest ? ” 

“ Well, I’m not so sure,” smiled the doctor. “ I 
don’t think it’s absurd to want Pollyanna.” 

“ But — but the way she puts it — healing the 
wound in her sister’s heart, and all that. One would 
think the child was some sort of — of medicine! ” 

The doctor laughed outright, and raised his eye¬ 
brows. 

“ Well, I’m not so sure but she is, Polly. I always 
said I wished I could prescribe her and buy her as I 
would a box of pills; and Charlie Ames says they al¬ 
ways made it a point at the Sanatorium to give their 
patients a dose of Pollyanna as soon as possible after 
their arrival, during the whole year she was there.” 

“ ‘ Dose,’ indeed! ” scorned Mrs. Chilton. 

“ Then — you don’t think you’ll let her go?” 

“ Go? Why, of course not! Do you think I’d let 
that child go to perfect strangers like that? — and 
such strangers! Why, Thomas, I should expect that 
that nurse would have her all bottled and labeled with 
full directions on the outside how to take her, by the 
time I’d got back from Germany.” 

Again the doctor threw back his head and laughed 



16 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


heartily, but only for a moment. His face changed 
perceptibly as he reached into his pocket for a letter. 

“ I heard from Dr. Ames myself, this morning,” 
he said, with an odd something in his voice that 
brought a puzzled frown to his wife’s brow. “ Sup¬ 
pose I read you my letter now.” 

“ Dear Tom,” he began. “ Miss Della Wetherby 
has asked me to give her and her sister a ‘ character,’ 
which I am very glad to do. I have known the Weth¬ 
erby girls from babyhood. They come from a fine 
old family, and are thoroughbred gentlewomen. You 
need not fear on that score. 

“ There were three sisters, Doris, Ruth, and Della. 
Doris married a man named John Kent, much against 
the family’s wishes. Kent came from good stock, but 
was not much himself, I guess, and was certainly a 
very eccentric, disagreeable man to deal with. He was 
bitterly angry at the Wetherby s’ attitude toward him, 
and there was little communication between the fam¬ 
ilies until the baby came. The Wetherbys worshiped 
the little boy, James — ‘ Jamie,’ as they called him. 
Doris, the mother, died when the boy was four years 
old, and the Wetherbys were making every effort to 
get the father to give the child entirely up to them, 
when suddenly Kent disappeared, taking the boy with 
him. He has never been heard from since, though a 
woHd-wide search has been made. 

“ The loss practically killed old Mr. and Mrs. Weth¬ 
erby. They both died soon after. Ruth was already 
married and widowed. Her husband was a man 
named Carew, very wealthy, and much older than 



Some Old Friends 


17 


herself. He lived but a year or so after marriage, 
and left her with a young son who also died within a 
year. 

“ From the time little Jamie disappeared, Ruth and 
Della seemed to have but one object in life, and that 
was to find him. They have spent money like water, 
and have all but moved heaven and earth; but without 
avail. In time Della took up nursing. She is doing 
splendid work, and has become the cheerful, efficient, 
sane woman that she was meant to be — though still 
never forgetting her lost nephew, and never leaving 
unfollowed any possible clew that might lead to his 
discovery. 

“ But with Mrs. Carew it is quite different. After 
losing her own boy, she seemed to concentrate all her 
thwarted mother-love on her sister's son. As you can 
imagine, she was frantic when he disappeared. That 
was eight years ago — for her, eight long years of 
misery, gloom, and bitterness. Everything that money 
can buy, of course, is at her command; but nothing 
pleases her, nothing interests her. Della feels that the 
time has come when she must be gotten out of herself, 
at all hazards; and Della believes that your wife’s 
sunny little niece, Pollyanna, possesses the magic key 
that will unlock the door to a new existence for her. 
Such being the case, I hope you will see your way clear 
to granting her request. And may I add that I, too, 
personally, would appreciate the favor; for Ruth 
Carew and her sister are very old, dear friends of 
my wife and myself; and what touches them touches 
us. As ever yours, Charlie.” 



18 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


The letter finished, there was a long silence, so long 
a silence that the doctor uttered a quiet, “ Well, 
Polly? ” 

Still there was silence. The doctor, watching his 
wife’s face closely, saw that the usually firm lips and 
chin were trembling. He waited then quietly until his 
wife spoke. 

“ How soon — do you think — they’ll expect her ? ” 
she asked at last. 

In spite of himself Dr. Chilton gave a slight start. 

“ You mean — that you will let her go? ” he cried. 

His wife turned indignantly. 

“ Why, Thomas Chilton, what a question! Do you 
suppose, after a letter like that, I could do anything 
but let her go? Besides, didn’t Dr. Ames himself 
ask us to? Do you think, after what that man has 
done for Pollyanna, that I’d refuse him anything —* 
no matter what it was? ” 

<r Dear, dear! I hope, now, that the doctor won’t 
take it into his head to ask for — for you, my love,” 
murmured the husband-of-a-year, with a whimsical 
smile. But his wife only gave him a deservedly scorn¬ 
ful glance, and said: 

“ You may write Dr. Ames that we’ll send Polly¬ 
anna; and ask him to tell Miss Wetherby to give us 
full instructions. It must be sometime before the 
tenth of next month, of course, for you sail then; 
and I want to see the child properly established myself 
before I leave, naturally.” 

“ When will you tell Pollyanna? ” 

“ To-morrow, probably.” 






“‘oh, my! what a perfectly lovely automobile!’” 













i 












































»> 


V- 


1 * 




- •* 




i 




















*4 


































Borne Old Frienas 


19 


“ What will ycni tell her? ” 

“ I don’t know — exactly; but not any more than 
I can’t help, certainly. Whatever happens, Thomas, 
we don’t want to spoil Pollyanna; and no child could 
help being spoiled if she once got it into her head that 
she was a sort of — of — ” 

“ Of medicine bottle with a label of full instructions 
for taking?” interpolated the doctor, with a smile. 

“ Yes,” sighed Mrs. Chilton. “ It’s her uncon¬ 
sciousness that saves the whole thing. You know that, 
dear.” 

“ Yes, I know,” nodded the man. 

“ She knows, of course, that you and I, and half 
the town are playing the game with her, and that we 

— we are wonderfully happier because we are playing 
it.” Mrs. Chilton’s voice shook a little, then went on 
more steadily. “ But if, consciously, she should begin 
to be anything but her own natural, sunny, happy little 
self, playing the game that her father taught her, she 
would be — just what that nurse said she sounded like 

— ‘ impossible.’ So, whatever I tell her, I sha’n’t tell 
her that she’s going down to Mrs. Carew’s to cheer 
her up,” concluded Mrs. Chilton, rising to her feet 
with decision, and putting away her work. 

“ Which is where I think you’re wise,” approved the 
doctor. 

Pollyanna was told the next day; and this was the 
manner of it. 

“ My dear,” began her aunt, when the two were 
alone together that morning, “ how would you like 
to spend next winter in Boston ? ” 



20 


Polly anna Grows Up 


“ With you?” 

“ No; I have decided to go with your uncle to Ger¬ 
many. But Mrs. Carew, a dear friend of Dr. Ames, 
has asked you to come and stay with her for the win¬ 
ter, and I think I shall let you go.” 

Pollyanna’s face fell. 

“ But in Boston I won’t have Jimmy, or Mr. Pen¬ 
dleton, or Mrs. Snow, or anybody that I know, Aunt 
Polly.” 

“ No, dear; but you didn’t have them when you 
came here — till you found them.” 

Pollyanna gave a sudden smile. 

“ Why, Aunt Polly, so I didn’t! And that means 
that down to Boston there are some Jimmys and Mr. 
Pendletons and Mrs. Snows waiting for me that I 
don’t know, doesn’t it ? ” 

“ Yes, dear.” 

“ Then I can be glad of that. I believe now, Aunt 
Polly, you know how to play the game better than I 
do. I never thought of the folks down there waiting 
for me to know them. And there’s such a lot of ’em, 
too! I saw some of' them when I was there two years 
ago with Mrs. Gray. We were there two whole hours, 
you know, on my way here from out West. 

“ There was a man in the station — a perfectly 
lovely man who told me where to get a drink of water. 
Do you suppose he’s there now? I’d like to know 
him. And there was a nice lady with a little girl. 
They live in Boston. They said they did. The little 
girl’s name was Susie Smith. Perhaps I could get to 
know them. Do you suppose I could ? And there was 



Some Old Friends 


21 


a boy, and another lady with a baby-only they lived 

in Honolulu, so probably I couldn’t find them there 
now. But there’d be Mrs. Carew, anyway. Who is 
Mrs. Carew, Aunt Polly? Is she a relation?” 

“ Dear me, Pollyanna! ” exclaimed Mrs. Chilton, 
half-laughingly, half-despairingly. “ How do you 
expect anybody to keep up with your tongue, much 
less your thoughts, when they skip to Honolulu and 
back again in two seconds! No, Mrs. Carew isn’t any 
relation to us. She’s Miss Della Wetherby’s sister. 
Do you remember Miss Wetherby at the Sanato¬ 
rium? ” 

Pollyanna clapped her hands. 

“ Her sister ? Miss Wetherby’s sister ? Oh, then 
she’ll be lovely, I know. Miss Wetherby was. I loved 
Miss Wetherby. She had little smile-wrinkles all 
around her eyes and mouth, and she knew the nicest 
stories. I only had her two months, though, because 
she only got there a little while before I came away. 
At first I was sorry that I hadn’t had her all the time, 
but afterwards I was glad; for you see if I had had 
her all the time, it would have been harder to say 
good-by than ’twas when I’d only had her a little 
while. And now it’ll seem as if I had her again, 
’cause I’m going to have her sister.” 

Mrs. Chilton drew in her breath and bit her lip. 

“ But, Pollyanna, dear, you must not expect that 
they’ll be quite alike,” she ventured. 

“ Why, they’re sisters, Aunt Polly,” argued the lit¬ 
tle girl, her eyes widening; “ and I thought sisters 
were always alike. We had two sets of ’em in the 



Pollyanna Grows Up 




Ladies’ Aiders. One set was twins, and they were 
so alike you couldn’t tell which was Mrs. Peck and 
which was Mrs. Jones, until a wart grew on Mrs. 
Jones’s nose, then of course we could, because we 
looked for the wart the first thing. And that’s what 
I told her one day when she was complaining that 
people called her Mrs. Peck, and I said if they’d only 
look for the wart as I did, they’d know right off. But 
she acted real cross — I mean displeased, and Pm 
afraid she didn’t like it — though I don’t see why; 
for I should have thought she’d been glad there was 
something they could be told apart by, ’specially as 
she was the president, and didn’t like it when folks 
didn’t act as if she was the president — best seats 
and introductions and special attentions at church 
suppers, you know. But she didn’t, and afterwards 
I heard Mrs. White tell Mrs. Rawson that Mrs. Jones 
had done everything she could think of to get rid of 
that wart, even to trying to put salt on a bird’s tail. 
But I don’t see how that could do any good. Aunt 
Polly, does putting salt on a bird’s tail help the warts 
on people’s noses?” 

“ Of course not, child! How you do run on, Polly¬ 
anna, especially if you get started on those Ladies’ 
Aiders!” 

“ Do I, Aunt Polly? ” asked the little girl, ruefully. 
“And does it plague you? I don’t mean to plague 
you, honestly, Aunt Polly. And, anyway, if I do 
plague you about those Ladies’ Aiders, you can be 
kind o’ glad, for if Pm thinking of the Aiders, Pm 
sure to be thinking how glad I am that I don’t belong 



Some Old Friends 


23 


to them any longer, but have got an aunt all my own. 
You can be glad of that, can’t you, Aunt Polly?” 

“ Yes, yes, dear, of course I can, of course I can,” 
laughed Mrs. Chilton, rising to leave the room, and 
feeling suddenly very guilty that she was conscious 
sometimes of a little of her old irritation against 
Pollyanna’s perpetual gladness. 

During the next few days, while letters concerning 
Pollyanna’s winter stay in Boston were flying back 
and forth, Pollyanna herself was preparing for that 
stay by a series of farewell visits to her Beldingsville 
friends. 

Everybody in the little Vermont village knew Polly¬ 
anna now, and almost everybody was playing the game 
with her. The few who were not, were not refraining 
because of ignorance of what the glad game was. So 
to one house after another Pollyanna carried the news 
now that she was going down to Boston to spend the 
winter; and loudly rose the clamor of regret and 
remonstrance, all the way from Nancy in Aunt Polly’s 
own kitchen to the great house on the hill where lived 
John Pendleton. 

Nancy did not hesitate to say — to every one except 
her mistress — that she considered this Boston trip 
all foolishness, and that for her part she would have 
been glad to take Miss Pollyanna home with her to 
the Corners, she would, she would; and then Mrs. 
Polly could have gone to Germany all she wanted 
to. 

On the hill John Pendleton said practically the same 
thing, only he did not hesitate to say it to Mrs. Chilton 



u 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


herself. As for Jimmy, the twelve-year-old boy whom 
John Pendleton had taken into his home because Pol¬ 
lyanna wanted him to, and whom he had now adopted 
— because he wanted to himself — as for Jimmy, 
Jimmy was indignant, and he was not slow to show it. 

“ But you’ve just come,” he reproached Pollyanna, 
in the tone of voice a small boy is apt to use when he 
wants to hide the fact that he has a heart. 

“ Why, I’ve been here ever since the last of March. 
Besides, it isn’t as if I was going to stay. It’s only 
for this winter.” 

“ I don’t care. You’ve just been away for a whole 
year, ’most, and if I’d s’posed you was going away 
again right off, the first thing, I wouldn’t have helped 
one mite to meet you with flags and bands and things, 
that day you come from the Sanatorium.” 

“Why, Jimmy Bean!” ejaculated Pollyanna, in 
amazed disapproval. Then, with a touch of superi¬ 
ority born of hurt pride, she observed: “ I’m sure I 
didn’t ask you to meet me with bands and things — 
and you made two mistakes in that sentence. You 
shouldn’t say ‘ you was ’; and I think ‘ you come ’ is 
wrong. It doesn’t sound right, anyway.” 

“ Well, who cares if I did? ” 

Pollyanna’s eyes grew still more disapproving. 

“ You said you did — when you asked me this sum¬ 
mer to tell you when you said things wrong, because 
Mr. Pendleton was trying to make you talk right.” 

“ Well, if you’d been brought up in a ’sylum with¬ 
out any folks that cared, instead of by a whole lot of 
old women who didn’t have anything to do but tell you 



Some Old Friends 


25 


how to talk right, maybe you’d say ‘ you was,’ and a 
whole lot more worse things, Pollyanna Whittier! ” 

“ Why, Jimmy Bean!” flared Pollyanna. “ My 
Ladies’ Aiders weren’t old women — that is, not many 
of them, so very old,” she corrected hastily, her usual 
proclivity for truth and literalness superseding her 
anger; “ and — ” 

“ Well, I’m not Jimmy Bean, either,” interrupted 
the boy, uptilting his chin. 

“ You’re — not — Why, Jimmy Be-What do 

you mean ? ” demanded the little girl. 

“ I’ve been adopted, legally. He’s been intending 
to do it, all along, he says, only he didn’t get to it. 
Now he’s done it. I’m to be called ‘ Jimmy Pendle¬ 
ton,’ and I’m to call him Uncle John, only I ain’t — 
are not — I mean, I am not used to it yet, so I hain’t — 
haven’t begun to call him that, much.” 

The boy still spoke crossly, aggrievedly, but every 
trace of displeasure had fled from the little girl’s face 
at his words. She clapped her hands joyfully. 

“ Oh, how splendid! Now you’ve really got folks 
— folks that care, you know. And you won’t ever 
have to explain that he wasn’t born your folks, ’cause 
your name’s the same now. I’m so glad, glad, 
glad!” 

The boy got up suddenly from the stone wall where 
they had been sitting, and walked off. His cheeks 
felt hot, and his eyes smarted with tears. It was to 
Pollyanna that he owed it all — this great good that 
had come to him; and he knew it. And it was to 
Poltyanna that he had just now been saying — 



26 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


He kicked a small stone fiercely, then another, and 
another. He thought those hot tears in his eyes were 
going to spill over and roll down his cheeks in spite 
of himself. He kicked another stone, then another; 
then he picked up a third stone and threw it with all 
his might. A minute later he strolled back to Polly¬ 
anna still sitting on the stone wall. 

“ I bet you I can hit that pine tree down there be¬ 
fore you can,” he challenged airily. 

“ Bet you can’t,” cried Pollyanna, scrambling down 
from her perch. 

The race was not run after all, for Pollyanna re¬ 
membered just in time that running fast was yet one 
of the forbidden luxuries for her. But so far as 
Jimmy was concerned, it did not matter. His cheeks 
were no longer hot, his eyes were not threatening to 
overflow with tears. Jimmy was himself again. 



CHAPTER III 


A DOSE OF POLLYANNA 

As the eighth of September approached — the day 
Pollyanna was to arrive — Mrs. Ruth Carew became 
more and more nervously exasperated with herself. 
She declared that she had regretted just once her 
promise to take the child — and that was ever since 
she had given it. Before twenty-four hours had 
passed she had, indeed, written to her sister demand¬ 
ing that she be released from the agreement; but 
Della had answered that it was quite too late, as al¬ 
ready both she and Dr. Ames had written the Chiltons. 

Soon after that had come Della’s letter saying that 
Mrs. Chilton had given her consent, and would in a 
few days come to Boston to make arrangements as to 
school, and the like. So there was nothing to be done, 
naturally, but to let matters take their course. Mrs. 
Carew realized that, and submitted to the inevitable, 
but with poor grace. True, she tried to be decently 
civil when Della and Mrs. Chilton made their expected 
appearance; but she was very glad that limited time 
made Mrs. Chilton’s stay of very short duration, and 
full to the brim of business. 

It was well, indeed, perhaps, that Pollyanna’s arrival 
was to be at a date no later than the eighth; for time, 
instead of reconciling Mrs. Carew to the prospective 
member of her household, was filling her with 
27 


new 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


n 

angry impatience at what she was pleased to call her 
“ absurd yielding to Della’s crazy scheme.” 

Nor was Della herself in the least unaware of her 
sister’s state of mind. If outwardly she maintained 
a bold front, inwardly she was very fearful as to re¬ 
sults; but on Pollyanna she was pinning her faith, 
and because she did pin her faith on Pollyanna, she 
determined on the bold stroke of leaving the little girl 
to begin her fight entirely unaided and alone. She 
contrived, therefore, that Mrs. Carew should meet 
them at the station upon their arrival; then, as soon 
as greetings and introductions were over, she hur¬ 
riedly pleaded a previous engagement and took herself 
off. Mrs. Carew, therefore, had scarcely time to look 
at her new charge before she found herself alone with 
the child. 

“ Oh, but Della, Della, you mustn’t — I can’t — ” 
she called agitatedly, after the retreating figure of the 
nurse. 

But Della, if she heard, did not heed; and, plainly 
annoyed and vexed, Mrs. Carew turned back to the 
child at her side. 

“ What a shame! She didn’t hear, did she? ” Pol¬ 
lyanna was saying, her eyes, also, wistfully following 
the nurse. “ And I didn’t want her to go now a bit. 
But then, I’ve got you, haven’t I ? I can be glad for 
that.” 

“ Oh, yes, you’ve got me — and I’ve got you,” re¬ 
turned t]je lady, not very graciously. “ Come, we go 
this way,” she directed, with a motion toward the 
right. 




A Dose of Pollyanna 




Obediently Pollyanna turned and trotted at Mrs. 
Carew’s side, through the huge station; but she looked 
up once or twice rather anxiously into the lady’s un¬ 
smiling face. At last she spoke hesitatingly. 

“ I expect maybe you thought — I’d be pretty,” she 
hazarded, in a troubled voice. 

“ P-pretty ? ” repeated Mrs. Carew. 

“ Yes — with curls, you know, and all that. And 
of course you did wonder how I did look, just as I 
did you. Only I knew you’d be pretty and nice, on 
account of your sister. I had her to go by, and you 
didn’t have anybody. And of course I’m not pretty, 
on account of the freckles, and it isn’t nice when 
you’ve been expecting a pretty little girl, to have one 
come like me; and — ” 

“ Nonsensp, child!” interrupted Mrs. Carew, a 
trifle sharply. “ Come, we’ll see to your trunk now, 
then we’ll go home. I had hoped that my sister would 
come with us; but it seems she didn’t see fit — even 
.for this one night.” 

Pollyanna smiled and nodded. 

“ I know; but she couldn’t, probably. Somebody 
wanted her, I expect. Somebody was always wanting 
her at the Sanatorium. It’s a bother, of course, when 
folks do want you all the time, isn’t it? — ’cause you 
can’t have yourself when you want yourself, lots of 
times. Still, you can be kind of glad for that, for it 
is nice to be wanted, isn’t it?” 

There was no reply — perhaps because fo the first 
time in her life Mrs. Carew was wondering if any¬ 
where in the world there was any one who really 



30 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


wanted her — not that she wished to be wanted, of 
course, she told herself angrily, pulling herself up 
with a jerk, and frowning down at the child by her side. 

Pollyanna did not see the frown. Pollyanna’s eyes 
were on the hurrying throngs about them. 

“ My! what a lot of people,” she was saying hap¬ 
pily. “ There’s even more of them than there was the 
other time I was here; but I haven’t seen anybody, 
yet, that I saw then, though I’ve looked for them 
everywhere. Of course the lady and the little baby 
lived in Honolulu, so probably they wouldn’t be here; 
but there was a little girl, Susie Smith — she lived 
right here in Boston. Maybe you know her though. 
Do you know Susie Smith ? ” 

“ No, I don’t know Susie Smith,” replied Mrs. 
Carew, dryly. 

“Don’t you? She’s awfully nice, and she’s pretty 
— black curls, you know; the kind I’m going to have 
when I go to Heaven. But never mind; maybe I can 
find her for you so you will know her. Oh, my! what 
a perfectly lovely automobile! And are we going to 
ride in it?” broke off Pollyanna, as they came to a 
pause before a handsome limousine, the door of which 
a liveried chauffeur was holding open. 

The chauffeur tried to hide a smile — and failed. 
Mrs. Carew, however, answered with the weariness of 
one to whom “ rides ” are never anything but a means 
of locomotion from one tiresome place to another 
probably quite as tiresome. 

“ Yes, we’re going to ride in it.” Then “ Home, 
Perkins,” she added to the deferential chauffeur. 



A Dose of Pollyanna 


31 


“ Oh, my, is it yours? ” asked Pollyanna, detecting 
the unmistakable air of ownership in her hostess’s 
manner. “ How perfectly lovely! Then you must be 
rich — awfully — I mean exceedingly rich, more than 
the kind that just has carpets in every room and ice 
cream Sundays, like the Whites — one of my Ladies’ 
Aiders, you know. (That is, she was a Ladies’ 
Aider.) I used to think they were rich, but I know 
now that being really rich means you’ve got diamond 
rings and hired girls and sealskin coats, and dresses 
made of silk and velvet for every day, and an automo¬ 
bile. Have you got all those ? ” 

“ Why, y-yes, I suppose I have,” admitted Mrs. 
Carew, with a faint smile. 

“ Then you are rich, of course,” nodded Pollyanna, 
wisely. “ My Aunt Polly has them, too, only her au¬ 
tomobile is a horse. My! but don’t I just love to ride 
in these things,” exulted Pollyanna, with a happy little 
bounce. “ You see I never did before, except the one 
that ran over me. They put me in that one after 
they’d got me out from under it; but of course I 
didn’t know about it, so I couldn’t enjoy it. Since 
then I haven’t been in one at all. Aunt Polly doesn’t 
like them. Uncle Tom does, though, and he wants 
one. He says he’s got to have one, in his business. 
He’s a doctor, you know, and all the other doctors in 
town have got them now. I don’t know how it will 
come out. Aunt Polly is all stirred up over it. You 
see, she wants Uncle Tom to have what he wants, 
only she wants him to want what she wants him to 
want. See?” 



32 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


Mrs. Carew laughed suddenly. 

“ Yes, my dear, I think I see,” she answered de¬ 
murely, though her eyes still carried — for them — a 
most unusual twinkle. 

“ All right,” sighed Pollyanna contentedly. “ I 
thought you would; still, it did sound sort of mixed 
when I said it. Oh, Aunt Polly says she wouldn’t 
mind having an automobile, so* much, if she could 
have the only one there was in the world, so there 
wouldn’t be any one else to run into her; but — My! 
what a lot of houses! ” broke off Pollyanna, looking 
about her with round eyes of wonder. “ Don’t they 
ever stop? Still, there’d have to be a lot of them for 
all those folks to live in, of course, that I saw at the 
station, besides all these here on the streets. And of 
course where there are more folks, there are more to 
know. I love folks. Don’t you?” 

“ Love folks! ” 

“ Yes, just folks, I mean. Anybody — everybody.” 

“ Well, no, Pollyanna, I can’t say that I do,” replied 
Mrs. Carew, coldly, her brows contracted. 

Mrs. Carew’s eyes had lost their twinkle. They 
were turned rather mistrustfully, indeed, on Polly¬ 
anna. To herself Mrs. Carew was saying: “Now for 
preachment number one, I suppose, on my duty to 
mix with my fellow-men, a la Sister Della! ” 

“Don’t you? Oh, I do,” sighed Pollyanna. 
“ They’re all so nice and so different, you know. And 
down here there must be such a lot of them to be nice 
and different. Oh, you don’t know how glad I am 
so soon that I came! I knew I would be, anyway, 



A Dose of Follyanna 33 


just as soon as I found out you were you — that is, 
Miss Wetherby’s sister, I mean. I love Miss 
Wetherby, so I knew I should you, too; for of course 
you’d be alike — sisters, so — even if you weren’t twins 
like Mrs. Jones and Mrs. Peck — and they weren’t 
quite alike, anyway, on account of the wart. But I 
reckon you don’t know what I mean, so I’ll tell you.” 

And thus it happened that Mrs. Carew, who had 
been steeling herself for a preachment on social ethics, 
found herself, much to her surprise and a little to her 
discomfiture, listening to the story of a wart on the 
nose of one Mrs. Peck, Ladies’ Aider. 

By the time the story was finished the limousine had 
turned into Commonwealth Avenue, and Pollyanna 
immediately began to exclaim at the beauty of a street 
which had such a “ lovely big long yard all the way 
up and down through the middle of it,” and which 
was all the nicer, she said, “ after all those little nar¬ 
row streets.” 

“ Only I should think every one would want to live 
on it,” she commented enthusiastically. 

“ Very likely; but that would hardly be possible,” 
retorted Mrs. Carew, with uplifted eyebrows. 

Pollyanna, mistaking the expression on her face for 
one of dissatisfaction that her own home was not on 
the beautiful Avenue, hastened to make amends. 

“ Why, no, of course not,” she agreed. “ And I 
didn’t mean that the narrower streets weren’t just as 
nice,” she hurried on; “and even better, maybe, be¬ 
cause you could be glad you didn’t have to go so far 
when you wanted to run across the way to borrow 



Pollyanna Grows Up 


34 


eggs or soda, and — Oh, but do you live here?” she 
interrupted herself, as the car came to a stop before 
the imposing Carew doorway. “ Do you live here, 
Mrs. Carew ? ” 

“ Why, yes, of course I live here,” returned the 
lady, with just a touch of irritation. 

“ Oh, how glad, glad you must be to live in such 
a perfectly lovely place! ” exulted the little girl, 
springing to the sidewalk and looking eagerly about 
her. “ Aren’t you glad ? ” 

Mrs. Carew did not reply. With unsmiling lips and 
frowning brow she was stepping from the limousine. 

For the second time in five minutes, Pollyanna 
hastened to make amends. 

“ Of course I don’t mean the kind of glad that’s 
sinfully proud,” she explained, searching Mrs. Carew’s 
face with anxious eyes. “ Maybe you thought I did, 
same as Aunt Polly used to, sometimes. I don’t mean 
the kind that’s glad because you’ve got something 
somebody else can’t have; but the kind that just — 
just makes you want to shout and yell and bang doors, 
you know, even if it isn’t proper,” she finished, dan¬ 
cing up and down on her toes. 

The chauffeur turned his back precipitately, and 
busied himself with the car. Mrs. Carew, -still with 
unsmiling lips and frowning brow led the way up the 
broad stone steps. 

“ Come, Pollyanna,” was all she said, crisply. 

It was five days later that Della Wetherby received 
the letter from her sister, and very eagerly she tore 




A Dose of Pollyanna 


35 


it open. It was the first that had come .since* Polly- 
anna’s arrival in Boston. 

“ My dear Sister/’ Mrs. Carew had written. “ For 
pity’s sake, Della, why didn’t you give me some ’sort 
of an idea what to expect from this child you have 
insisted upon my taking? I’m nearly wild — and I 
simply can’t send her away. I’ve tried to three times, 
but every time, before I get the words out of my 
mouth, she stops them by telling me what a perfectly 
lovely time she is having, and how glad she is to be 
here, and how good I am to let her live with me while 
her Aunt Polly has gone to Germany. Now how, 
pray, in the face of that, can I turn around and say 
‘ Well, won’t you please go home; I don’t want you ’? 
And the absurd part of it is, I don’t believe it has ever 
entered her head that I don’t want her here; and I 
can’t seem to make it enter her head, either. 

“ Of course if she begins to preach, and to tell me 
to count my blessings, I shall send her away. You 
know I told you, to begin with, that I wouldn’t permit 
that. And I won’t. Two or three times I have 
thought she was going to (preach, I mean), but so 
far she has always ended up with some ridiculous 
story about those Ladies’ Aiders of hers; so the ser¬ 
mon gets sidetracked — luckily for her, if she wants 
to stay. 

“ But, really, Della, she is impossible. Listen. In 
the first place she is wild with delight over the house. 
The very first day she got here she begged me to open 
every room; and she was not satisfied until every 
shade in the house was up, so that she might ‘ see all 



36 


Poliyanna Grows Up 


the perfectly lovely things,’ which, she declared, were 
even nicer than Mr. John Pendleton’s — whoever he 
may be, somebody in Beldingsville, I believe. Any¬ 
how he isn’t a Ladies’ Aider. I’ve found out that much. 

•“ Then, as if it wasn’t enough to keep me running 
from room to room (as , if I were the guide on a 
4 personally conducted’), what did she do but dis¬ 
cover a white satin evening gown that I hadn’t worn 
for years, and beseech me to put it on. And I did 
put it on — why, I can’t imagine, only that I found 
myself utterly helpless in her hands. 

“ But that was only the beginning. She begged 
then to see everything that I had, and she was so per¬ 
fectly funny in her stories of the missionary barrels, 
which she used to ‘dress out of,’ that I had to laugh 
— though I almost cried, too, to think of the wretched 
things that poor child had to wear. Of course gowns 
led to jewels, and she made such a fuss over my two 
or three rings that I foolishly opened the safe, just 
to see her eyes pop out. And, Della, I thought that 
child would go crazy. She put on to me every ring, 
brooch, bracelet, and necklace that I owned, and in¬ 
sisted on fastening both diamond tiaras in my hair 
(when she found out what they were), until there I 
sat, hung with pearls and diamonds and emeralds, and 
feeling like a heathen goddess in a Hindu temple, 
especially when that preposterous child began to dance 
round and round me, clapping her hands and chant¬ 
ing, ‘Oh, how perfectly lovely, how perfectly lovely! 
How I would love to hang you on a string in the 
window — you’d make such a beautiful prism! ’ 





A Dose of Poilyanna 


37 


“I was just going to ask her what on earth she 
meant by that when down she dropped in the middle 
of the floor and began to cry. And what do you sup¬ 
pose she was crying for? Because she was so glad 
she d got eyes that could see! Now what do you 
think of that? 

“ Of course this isn’t all. It’s only the beginning. 
Poilyanna has been here four days, and she’s filled 
every one of them full. She already numbers among 
her friends the ash-man, the policeman on the beat, 
and the paper boy, to say nothing of every servant 
in my employ. They seem actually bewitched with 
her, every one of them. But please do not think 
/ am, for I’m not. I would send the child back to 
you at once if I didn’t feel obliged to fulfil my promise 
to keep her this winter. As for her making me forget 
Jamie and my great sorrow — that is impossible. She 
only makes me feel my loss all the more keenly — 
because I have her instead of him. But, as I said, I 
shall keep her — until she begins to preach. Then 
back she goes to you. But she hasn’t preached yet. 

“ Lovingly but distractedly yours, 

“ Ruth.” 

“ ‘ Hasn’t preached yet,’ indeed! ” chuckled Della 
Wetherby to herself, folding up the closely-written 
sheets of her sister’s letter. “ Oh, Ruth, Ruth! and 
yet you admit that you’ve opened every room, raised 
every shade, decked yourself in satin and jewels — 
and Poilyanna hasn’t been there a week yet. But she 
hasn’t preached — oh, no, she hasn’t preached! ” 



CHAPTER IV 


THE GAME AND MRS. CAREW 

Boston, to Pollyanna, was a new experience, and 
certainly Pollyanna, to Boston — such part of it as 
was privileged to know her — was very much of a 
new experience. 

Pollyanna said she liked Boston, but that she did 
wish it was not quite so big. 

“ You see,” she explained earnestly to Mrs. Carew, 
the day following her arrival, “ I want to see and 
know it all, and I can’t. It’s just like Aunt Polly’s 
company dinners; there’s so much to eat — I mean, 
to see — that you don’t eat — I mean, see — any¬ 
thing, because you’re always trying to decide what to 
eat — I mean, to see. 

“ Of oourse you can be glad there is such a lot,” re¬ 
sumed Pollyanna, after taking breath, “ ’cause a whole 
lot of anything is nice — that is, good things; not 
such things as medicine and funerals, of course! — 
but at the same time I couldn’t used to help wishing 
Aunt Polly’s company dinners could be spread out a 
little over the days when there wasn’t any cake and 
pie; and I feel the same way about Boston. I wish 
I could take part of it home with me up to Beldings- 
ville so I’d have something new next summer. But 
of course I can’t. Cities aren’t like frosted cake — 
38 


The Game and Mrs. Carew 


39 


and, anyhow, even the cake didn’t keep very well. I 
tried it, and it dried up, ’specially the frosting. I 
reckon the time to take frosting and good times is 
while they are going; so I want to see all I can now 
while I’m here.” 

Pollyanna, unlike the people who think that to see 
the world one must begin at the most distant point, 
began her “ seeing Boston ” by a thorough explora¬ 
tion of her immediate surroundings — the beautiful 
Commonwealth Avenue residence which was now her 
home. This, with her school work, fully occupied her 
time and attention for some days. 

There was so much to see, and so much to learn; 
and everything was so marvelous and so beautiful, 
from the tiny buttons in the wall that flooded the 
rooms with light, to the great silent ballroom hung 
with mirrors and pictures. There were so many de¬ 
lightful people to know, too, for besides Mrs. Carew 
herself there were Mary, who dusted the drawing¬ 
rooms, answered the bell, and accompanied Pollyanna 
to and from school each day; Bridget, who lived in 
the kitchen and cooked; Jennie, who waited at table, 
and Perkins who drove the automobile. And they 
were all so delightful — yet so different! 

Pollyanna had arrived on a Monday, so it was al¬ 
most a week before the first Sunday. She came down¬ 
stairs that morning with a beaming countenance. 

“ I love Sundays,” she sighed happily. 

“ Do you ? ” Mrs. Carew’s voice had the weariness 
of one who loves no day. 

“ Yes, on account of church, you know, and Sunday 



40 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


school. Which do you like best, church, or Sunday 
school ? ” 

“ Well, really, I — ” began Mrs. Carew, who sel¬ 
dom went to church and never went to Sunday school. 

“ ’Tis hard to tell, isn’t it? ” interposed Pollyanna, 
with luminous but serious eyes. “ But you see I like 
church best, on account of father. You know he was 
a minister, and of course he’s really up in Heaven 
with mother and the rest of us, but I try to imagine 
him down here, lots of times; and it’s easiest in 
church, when the minister is talking. I shut my eyes 
and imagine it’s father up there; and it helps lots. 
I’m so glad we can imagine things, aren’t you? ” 

“ I’m not so sure of that, Pollyanna.” 

“ Oh, but just think how much nicer our imagined 
things are than our really truly ones — that is, of 
course, yours aren’t, because your real ones are so 
nice.” Mns. Carew angrily started to speak, but Pol¬ 
lyanna was hurrying on. “ And of course my real 
ones are ever so much nicer than they used to be. But 
all that time I was hurt, when my legs didn’t go, I 
just had to keep imagining all the time, just as hard 
as I could. And of course now there are lots, of times 
when I do it — like about father, and all that. And 
so to-day I’m just going to imagine it’s father up there 
in the pulpit. What time do we go ? ” 

" Go?” 

“ To church, I mean.” 

“ But, Pollyanna, I don’t — that is, I’d rather 
not — ” Mrs. Carew cleared her throat and tried 
again to say that she was not going to church at all; 




The Game and Mrs. Carew 41 


that she almost never went. But with Pollyanna’s 
confident little face and happy eyes before her, she 
could not do it. 

“ Why, I suppose — about quarter past ten — if we 
walk,” she said then, almost crossly. “ It’s only a 
little way.” 

Thus it happened that Mrs. Carew on that bright 
September morning occupied for the first time in 
months the Carew pew in the very fashionable and 
elegant church to which she had gone as a girl, and 
which she still supported liberally — so far as money 
went. 

To Pollyanna that Sunday morning service was a 
great wonder and joy. The marvelous music of the 
vested choir, the opalescent rays from the jeweled 
windows, the impassioned voice of the preacher, and 
the reverent hush of the worshiping throng filled her 
with an ecstasy that left her for a time almost speech¬ 
less. Not until they were nearly home did she fer¬ 
vently breathe: 

“ Oh, Mrs. Carew, I’ve just been thinking how glad 
I am we don’t have to live but just one day at a time! ” 

Mrs. Carew frowned and looked down sharply. 
Mrs. Carew was in no mood for preaching. She had 
just been obliged to endure it from the pulpit, she told 
herself angrily, and she would not listen to it from 
this chit of a child. Moreover, this “ living one day 
at a time ” theory was a particularly pet doctrine of 
Della’s. Was not Della always saying: “ But you 
only have to live one minute at a time, Ruth, and any 
one can endure anything for one minute at a time! ” 



42 


Poilyanna Grows Up 


“ Well? ” said Mrs. Carew now, tersely. 

“ Yes. Only think what I’d do if I had to live yes¬ 
terday and to-day and to-morrow all at once,” sighed 
Poilyanna. “ Such a lot of perfectly lovely things, 
you know. But Fve had yesterday, and now I’m 
living to-day, and I’ve got to-morrow still coming, 
and next Sunday, too. Honestly, Mrs. Carew, if it 
wasn’t Sunday now, and on this nice quiet street, 
I should just dance and shout and yell. I couldn’t 
help it. But it’s being Sunday, so, I shall have to 
wait till I get home and then take a hymn — the most 
rejoicingest hymn I can think of. What is the most 
rejoicingest hymn? Do you know, Mrs. Carew?” 

“ No, I can’t say that I do,” answered Mrs. Carew, 
faintly, looking very much as if she were searching 
for something she had lost. For a woman who' ex¬ 
pects, because things are so bad, to be told that she 
need stand only one day at a time, it is disarming, to 
say the least, to be told that, because things are so 
good, it is lucky she does not have to stand but one 
day at a time! 

On Monday, the next morning, Poilyanna went to 
school for the first time alone. She knew the way per¬ 
fectly now, and it was only a short walk. Poilyanna 
enjoyed her school very much. It was a small private 
school for girls, and was quite a new experience, 
in its way; but Poilyanna liked new experiences. 

Mrs. Carew, however, did not like new experiences, 
and she was having a good many of them these days. 
For one who is tired of everything to be in so intimate 
a companionship with one to whom everything is a 



The Game and Mrs. Carew 43 


fresh and fascinating joy must needs result in annoy¬ 
ance, to say the least. And Mrs. Carew was more than 
annoyed. She was exasperated. Yet to herself she 
was forced to admit that if any one asked her why she 
was exasperated, the only reason she could give would 
be “ Because Pollyanna is so glad ” — and even Mrs. 
Carew would hardly like to give an answer like that. 

To Della, however, Mrs. Carew did write that the 
word “ glad ” had got on her nerves, and that some¬ 
times she wished she might never hear it again. She 
still admitted that Pollyanna had not preached — that 
she had not even once tried to make her play the game. 
What the child did do, however, was invariably to 
take Mrs. Carew’s “ gladness ” as a matter of course, 
which, to one who had no gladness, was most pro¬ 
voking. 

It was during the second week of Pollyanna’s stay 
that Mrs. Carew’s annoyance overflowed into irritable 
remonstrance. The immediate cause thereof was 
P'ollyanna’s glowing conclusion to a story about one of 
her Ladies’ Aiders. 

“ She was playing the game, Mrs. Carew. But 
maybe you don’t know what the game is. I’ll tell you. 
It’s a lovely game.” 

But Mrs. Carew held up her hand. 

“ Never mind, Pollyanna,” she demurred. “ I know 
all about the game. My sister told me, and — and I 
must say that I — I should not care for it.” 

“ Why, iof course not, Mrs. Carew!” exclaimed 
Pollyanna in quick apology. “ I didn’t mean the game 
for you. You couldn’t play it, of course.” 



44 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


“ I couldn’t play it! ” ejaculated Mrs. Carew, who, 
though she would not play this silly game, was in no 
mood to be told that she could not. 

“ Why, no, don’t you see?” laughed Pollyanna, 
gleefully. “ The game is to find something in every¬ 
thing to be glad about; and you couldn’t even begin 
to hunt, for there isn’t anything about you but what 
you could be glad about. There wouldn’t be any game 
to it for you! Don’t you see? ” 

Mrs. Carew flushed angrily. In her annoyance she 
said more than perhaps she meant to say. 

“ Well, no, Pollyanna, I can’t say that I do,” she 
differed coldly. “ As it happens, you see, I can find 
nothing whatever to be — glad for.” 

For a moment Pollyanna stared blankly. Then she 
fell back in amazement. 

“ Why, Mrs. Carew! ” she breathed. 

“ Well, what is there—for me?” challenged the 
woman, forgetting all about, for the moment, that she 
was never going to allow Pollyanna to “ preach.” 

“ Why, there’s — there’s everything,” murmured 
Pollyanna, still with that dazed unbelief. “ There — 
there’s this beautiful house.” 

“ It’s just a place to eat and sleep — and I don’t 
want to eat and sleep.” 

“ But there are all these perfectly lovely things,” 
faltered Pollyanna. 

“ I’m tired of them.” 

“ And your automobile that will take you any¬ 
where.” 

“ I don’t want to go anywhere.” 




The Game and Mrs. Carew 


45 


is--.. ■■■■■ , ■ ■■■■■■ k ■■■ 

Pollyanna quite gasped aloud. 

“ But think of the people and things you could see, 
Mrs. Carew.” 

“ They would not interest me, Pollyanna.” 

Once again Pollyanna stared in amazement. The 
troubled frown on her face deepened. 

“ But, Mrs. Carew, I don’t see,” she urged. “ Al¬ 
ways, before, there have been bad things for folks to 
play the game on, and the badder they are the more 
fun ’tis to get them out — find the things to be glad 
for, I mean. But where there aren't any bad things, 
I shouldn’t know how to play the game myself.” 

There was no answer for a time. Mrs. Carew sat 
with her eyes out the window. Gradually the angry 
rebellion on her face changed to a look of hopeless 
sadness. Very slowly then she turned and said: 

“ Pollyanna, I had thought I wouldn’t tell you this; 
but I’ve decided that I will. I’m going to tell you 

why nothing that I have can make me-glad.” And 

she began the story of Jamie, the little four-year-old 
boy who, eight long years before, had stepped as into 
another world, leaving the door fast shut between. 

“ And you’ve never seen him since — anywhere? ” 
faltered Pollyanna, with tear-wet eyes, when the story 
was done. 

“ Never.” 

“But we’ll find him, Mrs. Carew — I’m sure we’ll 
find him.” 

Mrs. Carew shook her head sadly. 

“ But I can’t. I’ve looked everywhere, even in 
foreign lands.” 



46 


Polly anna Grows Up 


“ But he must be somewhere.” 

“He may be — dead, Pollyanna.” 

Pollyanna gave a quick cry. 

“ Oh, no, Mrs. Carew. Please don’t say that! Let’s 
imagine he’s alive. We can do that, and that’ll help; 
and when we get him imagined alive we can just as 
well imagine we’re going to find him. And that’ll 
help a whole lot more.” 

“ But Pm afraid he’s — dead, Pollyanna,” choked 
Mrs. Carew. 

“ You don’t know it for sure, do you? ” besought 
the little girl, anxiously. 

“ N-no.” 

“ Well, then, you’re just imagining it,” maintained 
Pollyanna, in triumph. “ And if you can imagine him 
dead, you can just as well imagine him alive, and it’ll 
be a whole lot nicer while you’re doing it. Don’t you 
see? And some day, Pm just sure you’ll find him. 
Why, Mrs- Carew, you can play the game now! You 
can play it on Jamie. You can be glad every day, for 
every day brings you just one day nearer to the time 
when you’re going to find him. See ? ” 

But Mrs. Carew did not “ see.” She rose drearily 
to her feet and said: 

“No, no, child! You don’t understand — you 
don’t understand. Now run away, please, and read, 
or do anything y£>u like. My head aches. Pm going 
to lie down.” 

And Pollyanna, with a troubled, sober face, slowly 
left the room. 



CHAPTER V 


POLLYANNA TAKES A WALK 

It was on the second Saturday afternoon that 
Pollyanna took her memorable walk. Heretofore 
Pollyanna had not walked out alone, except to go to 
and from school. That she would ever attempt to 
explore Boston streets by herself, never occurred to 
Mrs. Carew, hence she naturally had never forbidden 
it. In Beldingsville, however, Pollyanna had found — 
especially at the first — her chief diversion in strolling 
about the rambling old village streets in search of new 
friends and new adventures. 

On this particular Saturday afternoon Mrs. Carew 
had said, as she often did say: “ There, there, child, 
run away; please do. Go where you like and do what 
you like, only don’t, please, ask me any more questions 
to-day! ” 

Until now, left to herself, Pollyanna had always 
found plenty to interest her within the four walls of 
the house; for, if inanimate things failed, there were 
yet Mary, Jennie, Bridget, and Perkins. To-day, how¬ 
ever, Mary had a headache, Jennie was trimming a 
new hat, Bridget was making apple pies, and Perkins 
was nowhere to be found. Moreover it was a particu¬ 
larly beautiful September day, and nothing within the 
47 


48 


Polly anna Grows Up 


house was so alluring as the bright sunlight and balmy 
air outside. So outside Pollyanna went and dropped 
herself down on the steps. 

For some time she watched in silence the well- 
dressed men, women, and children, who walked briskly 
by the house, or else sauntered more leisurely through 
the parkway that extended up and down the middle of 
the Avenue. Then she got to her feet, skipped dawn 
the steps, and stood looking, first to the right, then to 
the left. 

Pollyanna had decided that she, too, would take a 
walk. It was a beautiful day for a walk, and not 
once, yet, had she taken one at all — not a real walk. 
Just going to and from school did not count. So she 
would take one to-day. Mrs. Carew would not mind. 
Had she not told her to do just what she pleased so 
long as she asked no more questions ? And there was 
the whole long afternoon before her. Only think what 
a lot one might see in a whole long afternoon! And it 
really was such a beautiful day. She would go — this 
way! And with a little whirl and skip of pure joy, 
Pollyanna turned and walked blithely down the 
Avenue. 

Into the eyes of those she met Pollyanna smiled 
joyously. She was disappointed — but not surprised 
— that she received no answering smile in return. 
She was used to that now — in Boston. She still 
smiled, however, hopefully: there might be some one, 
sometime, who would smile back. 

Mrs. Carew’s home was very near the beginning of 
Commonwealth Avenue, so it was not long before 



Polly anna Takes a Walk 


49 


Follyanna found herself at the edge of a street cross¬ 
ing her way at right angles. Across the street, in all 
its autumn glory, lay what to Pollyanna was the most 
beautiful “yard” she had ever seen — the Boston 
Public Garden. 

For a moment P'ollyanna hesitated, her eyes long¬ 
ingly fixed on the wealth of beauty before her. That 
it was the private grounds of some rich man or 
woman, she did not for a moment doubt. Once, with 
Dr. Ames at the Sanatorium, she had been taken to 
call on a lady who lived in a beautiful house sur¬ 
rounded by just such walks and trees and flower-beds 
as these. 

Pollyanna wanted now very much to cross, the street 
and walk in those grounds, but she doubted if she had 
the right. To be sure, others were there, moving 
about, she could see; but they might be invited guests, 
of course. After she had seen two women, one man, 
and a little girl unhesitatingly enter the gate and walk 
briskly down the path, however, Pollyanna concluded 
that she, too, might go. Watching her chance she 
skipped nimbly across the street and entered the Gar¬ 
den. 

It was even more beautiful close at hand than it had 
been at a distance. Birds twittered over her head, 
and a squirrel leaped across the path ahead of her. On 
benches here and there sat men, women, and children. 
Through the trees flashed the sparkle of the sun on 
water; and from somewhere came the shouts of chil¬ 
dren and the sound of music. 

Once again Pollyanna hesitated; then, a little tim- 



50 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


idly, she accosted a handsomely-dressed young woman 
coming toward her. 

“ Please, is this — a party?” she asked. 

The young woman stared. 

“ A party! ” she repeated dazedly. 

“ Yes’m. I mean, is it all right for me — to be 
here ? ” 

“ For you to be here? Why, of course. It’s for — 
for everybody!” exclaimed the young woman. 

“ Oh, that’s all right, then. I’m glad I came,” 
beamed Pollyanna. 

The young woman said nothing; but she turned 
back and looked at Pollyanna still dazedly as she hur¬ 
ried away. 

Pollyanna, not at all surprised that the owner of 
this beautiful place should be so generous as to give a 
party to everybody, continued on her way. At the 
turn of the path she came upon a small girl and a doll 
carriage. She stopped with a glad little cry, but she 
had not said a dozen words before from somewhere 
came a young woman with hurrying steps and a dis¬ 
approving voice; a young woman who held out her 
hand to the small girl, and said sharply: 

“ Here, Gladys, Gladys, come away with me. 
Hasn’t mama told you not to talk to strange chil¬ 
dren ? ” 

“ But I’m not strange children,” explained Polly¬ 
anna in eager defense. “ I live right here in Boston, 
now, and — ” But the young woman and the little 
girl dragging the doll carriage were already far down 
the path; and with a half-stifled sigh Pollyanna fell 



Polly anna Takes a Walk 


51 


back. For a moment she stood silent, plainly disap¬ 
pointed; then resolutely she lifted her chin and went 
forward. 

“ Well, anyhow, I can be glad for that,” she nodded 
to herself, “ for now maybe I’ll find somebody even 
nicer — Susie Smith, perhaps, or even Mrs. Carew’s 
Jamie. Anyhow, I can imagine I’m going to find 
them; and if I don’t find them , I can find somebody! ” 
she finished, her wistful eyes on the self-absorbed 
people all about her. 

Undeniably Pollyanna was lonesome. Brought up 
by her father and the Ladies’ Aid Society in a small 
Western town, she had counted every house in the 
village her home, and every man, woman, and child 
her friend. Coming to her aunt in Vermont at eleven 
years of age, she had promptly assumed that condi¬ 
tions would differ only in that the homes and the 
friends would be new, and therefore even more de¬ 
lightful, possibly, for they would be “ different ” — 
and Pollyanna did so love “ different ” things and 
people! Her first and always her supreme delight in 
Beldingsville, therefore, had been her long rambles 
about the town and the charming visits with the new 
friends she had made. Quite naturally, in conse¬ 
quence, Boston, as she first saw it, seemed to Polly¬ 
anna even more delightfully promising in its possibili¬ 
ties. 

Thus far, however, Pollyanna had to admit that in 
one respect, at least, it had been disappointing: she 
had been here nearly two weeks and she did not yet 
know the people who lived across the street, or even 



52 


Pollyanna Grows Up___ 

next door. More inexplicable still, Mrs. Carew her¬ 
self did not know many of them, and not any of 
them well. She seemed, indeed, utterly indifferent to 
her neighbors, which was most amazing from Polly¬ 
anna’s point of view; but nothing she could say ap¬ 
peared to change Mrs. Carew’s attitude in the matter 
at all. 

“ They do not interest me, Pollyanna,” was all she 
would say; and with this, Pollyanna — whom they 
did interest very much — was forced to be content. 

To-day, on her walk, however, Pollyanna had 
started out with high hopes, yet thus far she seemed 
destined to be disappointed. Here all about her were 
people who were doubtless most delightful — if she 
only knew them. But she did not know them. Worse 
yet, there seemed to be no prospect that she would 
know them, for they did not, apparently, wish to know 
her: Pollyanna was still smarting under the nurse’s 
sharp warning concerning “ strange children.” 

“ Well, I reckon I’ll just have to show ’em that I’m 
not strange children,” she said at last to herself, 
moving confidently forward again. 

Pursuant of this idea Pollyanna smiled sweetly into 
the eyes of the next person she met, and said blithely: 

“ It’s a nice day, isn’t it? ” 

u Er — what ? Oh, y-yes, it is,” murmured the lady 
addressed, as she hastened on a little faster. 

Twice again Pollyanna tried the same experiment, 
but with like disappointing results. Soon she came 
upon the little pond that she had seen sparkling in the 
sunlight through the trees. It was a beautiful pond, 




Pollyanna Takes a Walk 


53 


and on it were several pretty little boats full of laugh¬ 
ing children. As she watched them, Pollyanna felt 
more and more dissatisfied to remain by herself. It 
was then that, spying a man sitting alone not far 
away, she advanced slowly toward him and sat down 
on the other end of the bench. Once Pollyanna would 
have danced unhesitatingly to the man’s side and 
suggested acquaintanceship with a cheery confidence 
that had no doubt of a welcome; but recent rebuffs 
had filled her with unaccustomed diffidence. Covertly 
she looked at the man now. 

He was not very good to look at. His garments, 
though new, were dusty, and plainly showed lack of 
care. They were of the cut and style (though Polly¬ 
anna of course did not know this) that the State gives 
its prisoners as a freedom suit. His face was a pasty 
white, and was adorned with a week’s beard. His 
hat was pulled far down over his eyes. With his 
hands in his pockets he sat idly staring at the ground. 

For a long minute Pollyanna said nothing; then 
hopefully she began: 

“ It is a nice day, isn’t it ? ” 

The man turned his head with a start. 

“Eh? Oh — er — what did you say?” he ques¬ 
tioned, with a curiously frightened look around to 
make sure the remark was addressed to him. 

“ I said ’twas a nice day,” explained Pollyanna in 
hurried earnestness; “but I don’t care about that 
especially. That is, of course I’m glad it’s a nice day, 
but I said it just as a beginning to things, and I’d 
just as soon talk about something else — anything 



54 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


else. It’s only that I wanted you to talk — about 
something, you see.” 

The man gave a low laugh. Even to Pollyanna the 
laugh sounded a little queer, though she did not know 
(as did the man) that a laugh to his lips had been a 
stranger for many months. 

“ So you want me to talk, do you? ” he said a little 
sadly. “ Well, I don’t see but what I shall have to do 
it, then. Still, I should think a nice little lady like you 
might find lots nicer people to talk to than an old 
duffer like me.” 

“ Oh, but I like old duffers,” exclaimed Pollyanna 
quickly; “ that is, I like the old part, and I don’t know 
what a duffer is, so I can’t dislike that. Besides, if 
you are a duffer, I reckon I like duffers. Anyhow, I 
like you,” she finished, with a contented little settling 
of herself in her seat that carried conviction. 

“ Humph! Well, I’m surd I’m flattered,” smiled the 
man, ironically. Though his face and words ex¬ 
pressed polite doubt, it might have been noticed that 
he sat a little straighter on the bench. “ And, pray, 
what shall we talk about?” 

“ It’s — it’s infinitesimal to me. That means I don’t 
care, doesn’t it ? ” asked Pollyanna, with a beaming 
smile. “ Aunt Polly says that, whatever I talk about, 
anyhow, I always bring up at the Ladies’ Aiders. But 
I reckon that’s because they brought me up first, don’t 
you? We might talk about the party. I think it’s a 
perfectly beautiful party — now that I know some 
one.” 

“ P-party? ” 



Polly anna Takes a Walk 55 


“ Yes — this, you know — all these people here to¬ 
day. It is a party, isn t it? The lady said it was for 
everybody, so I stayed — though I haven't got to 
where the house is, yet, that’s giving the party.” 

The man’s lips twitched. 

“ Well, little lady, perhaps it is a party, in a way,” 
he smiled; “ but the ‘ house ’ that’s giving it is the 
city of Boston. This is the Public Garden — a public 
park, you understand, for everybody.” 

“ Is it ? Always ? And I may come here any time 
I (want to? Oh, how perfectly lovely! That’s even 
nicer than I thought it could be. I’d worried for fear 
I couldn’t ever come again, after to-day, you see. I’m 
glad now, though, that I didn’t know it just at the 
first, for it’s all the nicer now. Nice things are nicer 
when you’ve been worrying for fear they won’t be 
nice, aren’t they? ” 

“Perhaps they are — if they ever turn out to be 
nice at all,” conceded the man, a little gloomily. 

“ Yes, I think so,” nodded Pollyanna, not noticing 
the gloom. “But isn’t it beautiful — here?” she 
gloried. “ I wonder if Mrs. Carew knows about it — 
that it’s for anybody, so. Why, I should think every¬ 
body would want to come here all the time, and just 
stay and look around.” 

The man’s face hardened. 

“ Well, there are a few people in the world who 
have got a job — who’ve got something to do besides 
just to come here and stay and look around; but I 
don’t happen to be one of them.” 

“ Don’t you ? Then you can be glad for that, can’t 



56 


Pollyanna Grows Up 

you ? ” sighed Pollyanna, her eyes delightedly follow¬ 
ing a passing boat. 

The man’s lips parted indignantly, but no words 
came. Pollyanna was still talking. 

“ I wish I didn’t have anything to do but that. I 
have to go to school. Oh, I like school; but there’s 
such a whole lot of things I like better. Still Pm glad 
I can go to school. I’m ’specially glad when I remem¬ 
ber how last winter I didn’t think I could ever go 
again. You see, I lost my legs for a while — I mean, 
they didn’t go; and you know you never know how 
much you use things, till you don’t have ’em. And eyes, 
too. Did you ever think what a lot you do with eyes ? 
I didn’t till I went to the Sanatorium. There was a 
lady there who had just got blind the year before. I 
tried to get her to play the game — finding something 
to be glad about, you know — but she said she 
couldn’t; and if I wanted to know why, I might tie 
up my eyes with my handkerchief for just one hour. 
And I did. It was awful. Did you ever try it ? ” 

“ Why, n-no, I didn’t.” A half-vexed, half-baffled 
expression was coming to the man’s face. 

“ Well, don’t. It’s awful. You can’t do anything 
— not anything that you want to do. But I kept it 
on the whole hour. Since then I’ve been so glad, 
sometimes — when I see something perfectly lovely 
like this, you know — I’ve been so glad I wanted to 
cry; — ’cause I could see it, you know. She’s playing 
the game now, though — that blind lady is. Miss 
Wetherby told me.” 

“ The — game f ” 





Polly anna Takes a Walk 57 


“ Yes; the glad game. Didn’t I tell you? Finding 
something in everything to be glad about. Well, she’s 
found it now — about her eyes, you know. Her hus¬ 
band is the kind of a man that goes to help make the 
laws, and she had him ask for one that would help 
blind people, ’specially little babies. And she went 
herself and talked and told those men how it felt to 
be blind. And they made it — that law. And they 
said that she did more than anybody else, even her 
husband, to help make it, and that they didn’t believe 
there would have been any law at all if it hadn’t been 
for her. So now she says she’s glad she lost her eyes, 
’cause she’s kept so many little babies from growing 
up to be blind like her. So you see she’s playing it — 
the game. But I reckon you don’t know about the 
game yet, after all; so I’ll tell you. It started this 
way.” And Pollyanna, with her eyes on the shim¬ 
mering beauty all about her, told of the little pair of 
crutches of long ago, which should have been a doll. 

When the story was finished there was a long 
silence; then, a little abruptly the man got to his feet. 

“ Oh, are you going away now? ” she asked in 
open disappointment. 

“ Yes, I’m going now.” He smiled down at her a 
little queerly. 

“ But you’re coming back sometime ? ” 

He shook his head — but again he smiled. 

“ I hope not — and I believe not, little girl. You 
see, I’ve made a great discovery to-day. I thought I 
was down and out. I thought there was no place for 
me anywhere — now. But I’ve just discovered that 



58 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


I’ve got two eyes, two arms, and two legs. Now I’m 
going to use them — and I’m going to make somebody 
understand that I know how to use them! ” 

The next moment he was gone. 

“ Why, what a funny man! ” mused Pollyanna. 
“ Still, he was nice — and he was different, too,” she 
finished, rising to her feet and resuming her walk. 

Pollyanna was now once more her usual cheerful 
self, and she stepped with the confident assurance of 
one who has no doubt. Had not the man said that 
this was a public park, and that she had as good a 
right as anybody to be there? She walked nearer to 
the pond and crossed the bridge to the starting-place 
of the little boats. For some time she watched the 
children happily, keeping a particularly sharp lookout 
for the possible black curls of Susie Smith. She 
would have liked to take a ride in the pretty boats 
herself, but the sign said “ Five cents ” a trip, and 
she did not have any money with her. She smiled 
hopefully into the faces of several women, and twice 
she spoke tentatively. But no one spoke first to her, 
and those whom she addressed eyed her coldly, and 
made scant response. 

After a time she turned her steps into still another 
path. Here she found a white-faced boy in a wheel 
chair. She would have spoken to him, but he was so 
absorbed in his book that she turned away after a mo¬ 
ment’s wistful gazing. Soon then she came upon a 
pretty, but sad-looking young girl sitting alone, staring 
at nothing, very much as the man had sat. With a 
contented little cry Pollyanna hurried forward. 






Pollyanna Takes a Walk 


59 


“ Oh, how do you do? ” she beamed. “ I’m so glad 
I found you! I’ve been hunting ever so long for you,” 
she asserted, dropping herself down on the unoccupied 
end of the bench. 

The pretty girl turned with a start, an eager look 
of expectancy in her eyes. 

“ Oh! ” she exclaimed, falling back in plain dis¬ 
appointment. “ I thought — Why, what do you 
mean ? ” she demanded aggrievedly. “ I never set eyes 
on you before in my life.” 

“ No, I didn’t you, either,” smiled Pollyanna; “but 
I’ve been hunting for you, just the same. That is, of 
course I didn’t know you were going to be you, ex¬ 
actly. It’s just that I wanted to find some one that 
looked lonesome, and that didn’t have anybody. Like 
me, you know. So many here to-day have got folks. 
See?” 

“ Yes, I see,” nodded the girl, falling back into her 
old listlessness. “ But, poor little kid, it’s too bad you 
should find it out — so soon.” 

“ Find what out? ” 

“ That the lonesomest place in all the world is in a 
crowd in a big city.” 

Pollyanna frowned and pondered. 

“ Is it ? I don’t see how it can be. I don’t see how 
you can be lonesome when you’ve got folks all around 
you. Still — ” she hesitated, and the frown deepened. 
“ I was lonesome this afternoon, and there were folks 
all around me; only they didn’t seem to — to think — 
or notice.” 

The pretty girl smiled bitterly. 



60 


Polly anna Grows Up 


“ That’s just it. They don’t ever think — or 
notice, crowds don’t.” 

“ But some folks do. We can be glad some do,” 
urged Polly anna. “ Now when I — ” 

“ Oh, yes, some do,” interrupted the other. As she 
spoke she shivered and looked fearfully down the path 
beyond Pollyanna. “ Some notice — too much.” 

Pollyanna shrank back in dismay. Repeated re¬ 
buffs that afternoon had given her a new sensitiveness, 

“ Do you mean — me ? ” she stammered. “ That 
you wished I hadn’t — noticed — you ? ” 

“No, no, kiddie! I meant — some one quite dif¬ 
ferent from you. Some one that hadn’t ought to 
notice. I was glad to have you speak, only — I 
thought at first it was some one from home.” 

“ Oh, then you don’t live here, either, any more 
than I do — I mean, for keeps.” 

“ Oh, yes, I live here now,” sighed the girl; “ that 
is, if you can call it living — what I do.” 

“What do you do?” asked Pollyanna interest¬ 
edly. 

“Do? I’ll tell you what I do,” cried the other, 
with sudden bitterness. “ From morning till night I 
sell fluffy laces and perky bows to girls that laugh and 
talk and know each other. Then I go home to a little 
back room up three flights just big enough to hold a 
lumpy cot-bed, a washstand with a nicked pitcher, one 
rickety chair, and me. It’s like a furnace in the sum¬ 
mer and an ice box in the winter; but it’s all the place 
I’ve got, and I’m supposed to stay in it — when I ain’t 
workin’. But I’ve come out to-day. I ain’t goin’ to 



Pollyanna Takes a Walk 61 


stay in that room, and I ain’t goin’ to go to any old 
library to read, neither. It’s our last half-holiday this 
year — and an extra one, at that; and I’m going to 
have a good time — for once. I’m just as young, and 
I like to laugh and joke just as well as them girls I sell 
bows to all day. Well, to-day I’m going to laugh and 
joke.” 

Pollyanna smiled and nodded her approval. 

“ I’m glad you feel that way. I do, too. It’s a lot 
more fun — to be happy, isn’t it? Besides, the Bible 
tells us to; — rejoice and be glad, I mean. It tells us 
to eight hundred times. Probably you know about 
’em, though — the rejoicing texts.” 

The pretty girl shook her head. A queer look came 
to her face. 

“ Well, no,” she said dryly. “ I can’t say I was 
thinkin’ — of the Bible.” 

“Weren’t you? Well, maybe not; but, you see, 
my father was a minister, and he — ” 

“ A minister ? ” 

“Yes. Why, was yours, too?” cried Pollyanna, 
answering something she saw in the other’s face. 

“ Y-yes.” A faint color crept up to the girl’s fore¬ 
head. 

“ Oh, and has he gone like mine to be with God and 
the angels ? ” 

The girl turned away her head. 

“ No. He’s still living — back home,” she an¬ 
swered, half under her breath. 

“ Oh, how glad you must be,” sighed Pbllyanna, 
enviously. “ Sometimes I get to thinking, if only I 



62 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


could just see father once — but you do see your 
father, don’t you ? ” 

“ Not often. You see, I’m down — here.” 

“ But you can see him — and I can’t, mine. He’s 
gone to be with mother and the rest of us up in 
Heaven, and— Have you got a mother, too — an 
earth mother ? ” 

“ Y-yes.” The girl stirred restlessly, and half 
moved as if to go. 

“ Oh, then you can see both of them,” breathed 
Pollyanna, unutterable longing in her face. “ Oh, 
how glad you must be! For there just isn’t anybody, 
is there, that really cares and notices quite so much 
as fathers and mothers. You see I know, for I had a 
father until I was eleven years old; but, for a mother, 
I had Ladies’ Aiders for ever so long, till Aunt Polly 
took me. Ladies’ Aiders are lovely, but of course they 
aren’t like mothers, or even Aunt Pollys; and — ” 

On and on Pollyanna talked. Pollyanna was in her 
element now. Pollyanna loved to talk. That there 
was anything strange or unwise or even uncon¬ 
ventional in this intimate telling of her thoughts and 
her history to a total stranger on a Boston park bench 
did not once occur to Pollyanna. To Pollyanna all 
men, women, and children were friends, either known 
or unknown; and thus far she had found the un¬ 
known quite as delightful as the known, for with them 
there was always the excitement of mystery and ad¬ 
venture — while they were changing from the un¬ 
known to the known. 

Jo this young girl at her side, therefore, Pollyanna 



Polly anna Takes a Walk 63 


talked unreservedly of her father, her Aunt Polly, her 
Western home, and her journey East to Vermont. 
She told of new friends and old friends, and of course 
she told of the game. Polly anna almost always told 
everybody of the game, either sooner or later. It was, 
indeed, so much a part of her very self that she could 
hardly have helped telling of it. 

As for the girl — she said little. She was not now 
sitting in her old listless attitude, however, and to her 
whole self had come a marked change. The flushed 
cheeks, frowning brow, troubled eyes, and nervously 
working fingers were plainly the signs of some inward 
struggle. From time to time she glanced apprehen¬ 
sively down the path beyond Pollyanna, and it was 
after such a glance that she clutched the little girl’s 
arm. 

“ See here, kiddie, for just a minute don’t you leave 
me. Do you hear? Stay right where you are! 
There’s a man I know cornin’; but no matter what he 
says, don’t you pay no attention, and don’t you go. 
I’m goin’ to stay with you. See ? ” 

Before Pollyanna could more than gasp her won¬ 
derment and surprise, she found herself looking up 
into the face of a very handsome young gentleman, 
who had stopped before them. 

“ Oh, here you are,” he smiled pleasantly, lifting 
his hat to Pollyanna’s companion. “ I’m afraid I’ll 
have to begin with an apology — I’m a little late.” 

“ It don’t matter, sir,” said the young girl, speak¬ 
ing hurriedly. “ I — I’ve decided not to go.” 

The young man gave a light laugh, 



64 


Polly anna Grows Up 


“ Oh, come, my dear, don’t be hard on a chap be¬ 
cause he’s a little late! ” 

“ It isn’t that, really,” defended the girl, a swift 
red flaming into her cheeks. “ I mean — I’m not 
going.” 

“ Nonsense ! ” The man stopped smiling. He 
spoke sharply. “ You said yesterday you’d go.” 

“ I know; but I’ve changed my mind. I told my 
little friend here — I’d stay with her.” 

“ Oh, but if you’d rather go with this nice young 
gentleman,” began Pollyanna, anxiously; but she fell 
back silenced at the look the girl gave her. 

“ I tell you I had not rather go. I’m not going.” 

“And, pray, why this sudden right-about face?” 
demanded the young man with an expression that 
made him suddenly look, to Pollyanna, not quite so 
handsome. “ Yesterday you said — ” 

“ I know I did,” interrupted the girl, feverishly. 
“ But I knew then that I hadn’t ought to. Let’s call 
it — that I know it even better now. That’s all.” 
And she turned away resolutely. 

It was not all. The man spoke again, twice. He 
coaxed, then he sneered with a hateful look in his 
eyes. At last he said something very low and angry, 
which Pollyanna did not understand. The next mo¬ 
ment he wheeled about and strode away. 

The girl watched him tensely till he passed quite 
out of sight, then, relaxing, she laid a shaking hand 
on Pollyanna’s arm. 

“ Thanks, kiddie. I reckon I owe you — more than 
you know. Good-by.” 



Polly anna Takes a Walk 


= 


65 


“ But you aren’t going away now! ” bemoaned 
Pollyanna. 

The girl sighed wearily. 

“ I got to. He might come back, and next time I 
might not be able to — ” She clipped the words short 
and rose to her feet. For a moment she hesitated, 
then she choked bitterly: “ You see, he’s the kind that 

— notices too much, and that hadn’t ought to notice 

— me — at all! ” With that she was gone. 

“ Why, what a funny lady,” murmured Pollyanna, 
looking wistfully after the vanishing figure. “ She 
was nice, but she was sort of different, too,” she com¬ 
mented, rising to her feet and moving idly down the 
path. 



r 


CHAPTER VI 

JERRY TO THE RESCUE 

It was not long before Pollyanna reached the edge 
of the Garden at a corner where two streets crossed. 
It was a wonderfully interesting corner, with its hurry¬ 
ing cars, automobiles, carriages and pedestrians. A 
huge red bottle in a drug-store window caught her eye, 
and from down the street came the sound of a hurdy- 
gurdy. Hesitating only a moment Pollyanna darted 
across the corner and skipped lightly down the street 
toward the entrancing music. 

Pollyanna found much to interest her now. In the 
store windows were marvelous objects, and around the 
hurdy-gurdy, when she had reached it, she found a 
dozen dancing children, most fascinating to watch. 
So altogether delightful, indeed, did this pastime prove 
to be that Pollyanna followed the hurdy-gurdy for 
some distance, just to see those children dance. Pres¬ 
ently she found herself at a corner so busy that a very 
big man in a belted blue coat helped the people across 
the street. For an absorbed minute she watched him 
in silence; then, a little timidly, she herself started to 
cross. 

It was a wonderful experience. The big, blue- 
coated man saw her at once and promptly beckoned 
to her. He even walked to meet her. Then, through 
66 










Jerry to the Rescue 


67 


a wide lane with puffing motors and impatient horses 
on either hand, she walked unscathed to the further 
curb. It gave her a delightful sensation, so delight¬ 
ful that, after a minute, she walked back. Twice 
again, after short intervals, she trod the fascinating 
way so magically opened at the lifting of the big man’s 
hand. But the last time her conductor left her at the 
curb, he gave a puzzled frown. 

“ See here, little girl, ain’t you the same one what 
crossed a minute ago ? ” he demanded. “ And again 
before that? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” beamed Pollyanna. “ I’ve been across 
four times!” 

“ Weill ” the officer began to bluster; but Polly¬ 
anna was still talking. 

“ And it’s been nicer every time! ” 

“ Oh-h, it has — has it ? ” mumbled the big man, 
lamely. Then, with a little more spirit he sputtered: 
“ What do you think I’m here for — just to tote you 
back and forth ? ” 

“ Oh, no, sir,” dimpled Pollyanna. “Of course 
you aren’t just for me! There are all these others. 
I know what you are. You’re a policeman. We’ve 
got one of you out where I live at Mrs. Carew’s, only 
he’s the kind that just walks On the sidewalk, you 
know. I used to think you were soldiers, on account 
of your gold buttons and blue hats; but I know better 
now. Only I think you are a kind of a soldier, ’cause 
you’re so brave — standing here like this, right in the 
middle of all these teams and automobiles, helping 
folks across.” 




68 Pollyanna Grows Up 

— .— 

“ Ho—ho! Brrrr!” spluttered the big man, 
coloring like a schoolboy and throwing back his head 
with a hearty laugh. “ Ho — ho! Just as if — ” 
He broke off with a quick lifting of his hand. The 
next moment he was escorting a plainly very much 
frightened little old lady from curb to curb. If his 
step were a bit more pompous, and his chest a bit 
more full, it must have been only an unconscious 
tribute to the watching eyes of the little girl back at 
the starting-point. A moment later, with a haughtily 
permissive wave of his hand toward the chafing drivers 
and chauffeurs, he strolled back to Pollyanna. 

“ Oh, that was splendid! ” she greeted him, with 
shining eyes. “ I love to see you do it — and it’s just 
like the Children of Israel crossing the Red Sea, isn’t 
it ? — with you holding back the waves for the people 
to cross. And how glad you must be all the time, that 
you can do it! I used to think being a doctor was the 
very gladdest business there was, but I reckon, after 
all, being a policeman is gladder yet — to help fright¬ 
ened people like this, you know. And — ” But with 
another “ Brrrr! ” and an embarrassed laugh, the big 
blue-coated man was back in the middle of the street, 
and Pollyanna was all alone on the curbstone. 

For only a minttfe longer did Pollyanna watch her 
fascinating “ Red Sea,” then, with a regretful back¬ 
ward glance, she turned away. 

“ I reckon maybe I’d better be going home now,” 
she meditated. “ It must be ’most dinner time.” And 
briskly she started to walk back by the way she had 
come. 






Jerry to the Rescue 


69 


Not until she had hesitated at several corners, and 
unwittingly made two false turns, did Pollyanna 
grasp the fact that “ going back home ” was not to 
be so easy as she had thought it to be. And not until 
she came to a building which she knew she had never 
seen before, did she fully realize that she had lost her 
way. 

She was on a narrow street, dirty, and ill-paved. 
Dingy tenement blocks and a few unattractive stores 
were on either side. All about were jabbering men 
and chattering women — though not one word of 
what they said could Pollyanna understand. More¬ 
over, she could not help seeing that the people looked 
at her very curiously, as if they knew she did not be¬ 
long there. 

Several times, already, she had asked her way, but 
in vain. No one seemed to know where Mrs. Carew 
lived; and, the last two times, those addressed had 
answered with a gesture and a jumble of words which 
Pollyanna, after some thought, decided must be 
“ Dutch,” the kind the Haggermans — the only 
foreign family in Beldingsville — used. 

On and on, down one street and up another, Polly¬ 
anna trudged. She was thoroughly frightened now. 
She was hungry, too, and very tired. Her feet ached, 
and her eyes smarted with the tears she was trying 
so hard to hold back. Worse yet, it was unmistakably 
beginning to grow dark. 

“ Well, anyhow,” she choked to herself, “ Pm going 
to be glad Pm lost, ’cause it’ll be so nice when I get 
found I can be glad for that! ” 




70 


Polly anna Grows Up 


'It was at a noisy corner where two broader streets 
crossed that Pollyanna finally came to a dismayed 
stop. This time the tears quite overflowed, so that, 
lacking a handkerchief, she had to use the backs of 
both hands to wipe them away. 

“ Hullo, kid, why the weeps ? ” queried a cheery 
voice. “ What’s up ? ” 

With a relieved little cry Pollyanna turned to con¬ 
front a small boy carrying a bundle of newspapers 
under his arm. 

“ Oh, I’m so glad to see you! ” she exclaimed. 
“I’ve so wanted to see some one who didn’t talk 
Dutch!” 

The small boy grinned. 

“ Dutch nothin’! ” he scoffed. “ You mean Dago, I 
bet ye.” 

Pollyanna gave a slight frown. 

“ Well, anyway, it — it wasn’t English,” she said 
doubtfully; “ and they couldn’t answer my questions. 
But maybe you can. Do you know where Mrs. Carew 
lives?” 

“Nix! You can search me.” 

“ Wha-at ? ” queried Pollyanna, still more doubt¬ 
fully. 

The boy grinned again. 

“ I say not in mine. I guess I ain’t acquainted with 
the lady.” 

“ But isn’t there anybody anywhere that is ? ” im¬ 
plored Pollyanna. “ You see, I just went out for a 
walk and I got lost. I’ve been ever and ever so far, 
but I can’t find the house at all; and it’s supper — I 



Jerry to the Rescue 71 


mean dinner time and getting dark. I want to get 
back. I must get back.” 

“Gee! Well, I should worry!” sympathized the 
boy. 

“ Yes, and I’m afraid Mrs. Carew’ll worry, too,” 
sighed Pollyanna. 

“ Gorry! if you ain’t the limit,” chuckled the youth, 
unexpectedly. “ But, say, listen! Don’t ye know the 
name of the street ye want? ” 

“ No — only that it’s some kind of an avenue,” de¬ 
sponded Pollyanna. 

“A a venoo, is it? Sure, now, some class to that! 
We’re doin’ fine. What’s the number of the house? 
Can ye tell me that? Just scratch your head! ” 

“ Scratch — my — head? ” Pollyanna frowned 
questioningly, and raised a tentative hand to her 
hair. 

The boy eyed her with disdain. 

“ Aw, come off yer perch! Ye ain’t so dippy as all 
that. I say, don’t ye know the number of the house 
ye want ? ” 

“ N-no, except there’s a seven in it,” returned Pol¬ 
lyanna, with a faintly hopeful air. 

“Won’t ye listen ter that?” gibed the scornful 
youth. “ There’s a seven in it — an’ she expects me 
ter know it when I see it! ” 

“ Oh, I should know the house, if I could only see 
it,” declared Pollyanna, eagerly; “ and I think I’d 
know the street, too, on account of the lovely long 
yard running right up and down through the middle 
of it.” 



72 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


This time it was the boy who gave a puzzled frown. 
“ Yard?” he queried, “ in the middle of a street? ” 
“Yes — trees and grass, you know, with a walk in 
the middle of it, and seats, and — ” But the boy in¬ 
terrupted her with a whoop of delight. 

“ Gee whiz! Commonwealth Avenue, sure as yer 
livin’! Wouldn’t that get yer goat, now? ” 

“Oh, do you know — do you, really?” besought 
Pollyanna. “ That sounded like it — only I don’t 
know what you meant about the goat part. There 
aren’t any goats there. I don’t think they’d allow — ” 
“ Goats nothin’! ” scoffed the boy. “ You bet yer 
sweet life I know where ’tis! Don’t I tote Sir James 
up there to the Garden ’most ev’ry day? An’ I’ll take 
you , too. Jest ye hang out here till I get on ter my 
job again, an’ sell out my stock. Then we’ll make 
tracks for that ’ere Avenue ’fore ye can say Jack 
Robinson.” 

“You mean you’ll take me — home?” appealed 
Pollyanna, still plainly not quite understanding. 

“ Sure! It’s a cinch — if you know the house.” 

“ Oh, yes, I know the house,” replied the literal 
Pollyanna, anxiously, “ but I don’t know whether it’s 
a — a cinch, or not. If it isn’t, can’t you — ” 

But the boy only threw her another disdainful 
glance and darted off into the thick of the crowd. A 
moment later Pollyanna heard his strident call of 
“paper, paper! Herald, Globe, — paper, sir?” 

With a sigh of relief Pollyanna stepped back into 
a doorway and waited. She was tired, but she was 
happy. In spite of sundry puzzling aspects of the 



Jerry to the Rescue 


73 


case, she yet trusted the boy, and she had perfect con¬ 
fidence that he could take her home. 

“ He’s nice, and I like him,” she said to herself, 
following with her eyes the boy’s alert, darting figure. 
“ But he does talk funny. His words sound English, 
but some of them don’t seem to make any sense with 
the rest of what he says. But then, I’m glad he found 
me, anyway,” she finished with a contented little sigh. 

It was not long before the boy returned, his hands 
empty. 

“ Come on, kid. All aboard,” he called cheerily. 
“ Now we’ll hit the trail for the Avenue. If I was the 
real thing, now, I’d tote ye home in style in a buzz- 
wagon ; but seein’ as how I hain’t got the dough, we’ll 
have ter hoof it.” 

It was, for the most part, a silent walk. Pollyanna, 
for once in her life, was too tired to talk, even of the 
Ladies’ Aiders; and the boy was intent on picking 
out the shortest way to his goal. When the Public 
Garden was reached, Pollyanna did exclaim joyfully: 

“ Oh, now I’m ’most there! I remember this place. 
I had a perfectly lovely time here this afternoon. It’s 
only a little bit of a ways home now.” 

“ That’s the stuff! Now we’re gettin’ there,” 
crowed the boy. “ What’d I tell ye? We’ll just cut 
through here to the Avenue, an’ then it’ll be up ter 
you ter find the house.” 

“ Oh, I can find the house,” exulted Pollyanna, with 
all the confidence of one who has reached familiar 
ground. 

It was quite dark when Pollyanna led the way up 



(74 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


the broad Carew steps. The boy’s ring at the bell was 
very quickly answered, and Pollyanna found herself 
confronted by not only Mary, but by Mrs. Carew, 
Bridget, and Jennie as well. All four of the women 
were white-faced and anxious-eyed. 

“ Child, child, where have you been ? ” demanded 
Mrs. Carew, hurrying forward. 

“ Why, I — I just went to walk,” began Pollyanna, 
“ and I got lost, and this boy — ” 

“ Where did you find her ? ” cut in Mrs. Carew, 
turning imperiously to Pollyanna’s escort, who was, 
at the moment, gazing in frank admiration at the 
wonders about him in the brilliantly-lighted hall. 
“ Where did you find her, boy? ” she repeated sharply. 

For a brief moment the boy met her gaze unflinch¬ 
ingly; then something very like a twinkle came into 
his eyes, though his voice, when he spoke, was gravity 
itself. 

“ Well, I found her ’round Bowdoin Square, but I 
reckon she’d been doin’ the North End, only she 
couldn’t catch on ter the lingo of the Dagos, so I 
don’t think she give ’em the glad hand, ma’am.” 

“ The North End — that child — alone! Polly¬ 
anna.! ” shuddered Mrs. Carew. 

“ Oh, I wasn’t alone, Mrs. Carew,” fended Polly¬ 
anna. “ There were ever and ever so many people 
there, weren’t there, boy?” 

But the boy, with an impish grin, was disappear¬ 
ing through the door. 

Pollyanna learned many things during the next 
half-hour. She learned that nice little girls do not 



Jerry to the Rescue 


75 


take long walks alone in unfamiliar cities, nor sit on 
park benches and talk to strangers. She learned, 
also, that it was only by a “ perfectly marvelous 
miracle ” that she had reached home at all that night, 
and that she had escaped many, many very disagree¬ 
able consequences of her foolishness. She learned 
that Boston was not Beldingsville, and that she must 
not think it was. 

“ But, Mrs. Carew,” she finally argued despairingly, 
“ I am here, and I didn’t get lost for keeps. Seems 
as if I ought to be glad for that instead of thinking 
all the time of the sorry things that might have hap¬ 
pened.” 

“ Yes, yes, child, I suppose so, I suppose so,” sighed 
Mrs, Carew; “ but you have given me such a fright, 
and I want you to be sure, sure, sure never to do it 
again. Now come, dear, you must be hungry.” 

It was just as she was dropping off to sleep that 
night that P'ollyanna murmured drowsily to herself: 

“ The thing I’m the very sorriest for of anything 
is that I didn’t ask that boy his name nor where he 
lived. Now I can’t ever say thank you to him! ” 




CHAPTER VII 


A NEW ACQUAINTANCE 

Pollyanna’s movements were most carefully 
watched over after her adventurous walk; and, ex¬ 
cept to go to school, she was not allowed out of the 
house unless Mary or Mrs. Carew herself accompanied 
her. This, to Pollyanna, however, was no cross, for 
she loved both Mrs. Carew and Mary, and delighted to 
be with them. They were, too, for a while, very gen¬ 
erous with their time. Even Mrs. Carew, in her ter¬ 
ror of what might have happened, and her relief that 
it had not happened, exerted herself to entertain the 
child. 

Thus it came about that, with Mrs. Carew, Polly¬ 
anna attended concerts and matinees, and visited the 
Public Library and the Art Museum; and with Mary 
she took the wonderful “ seeing Boston ” trips, and 
visited the State House and the Old South Church. 

Greatly as Pollyanna enjoyed the automobile, she 
enjoyed the trolley cars more, as Mrs. Carew, much 
to her surprise, found out one day. 

“Do we go in the trolley car?” Pollyanna asked 
eagerly. ' 

“ No. Perkins will take us,” answered Mrs. Carew. 
Then, at the unmistakable disappointment in Polly- 
76 




A New Acquaintance 


77 


anna’s face, she added in surprise: “ Why, I thought 
you liked the auto, child! ” 

“ Oh, I do,” acceded Pollyanna, hurriedly; “and I 
wouldn’t say anything, anyway, because of course I 
know it’s cheaper than the trolley car, and — ” 

“ * Cheaper than the trolley car ’! ” exclaimed Mrs. 
Carew, amazed into an interruption. 

“ Why, yes,” explained Pollyanna, with widening 
eyes; “ the trolley car costs five cents a person, you 
know, and the auto doesn’t cost anything, ’cause it’s 
yours. And of course I love the auto, anyway,” she 
hurried on, before Mrs. Carew could speak. “ It’s 
only that there are so many more people in the trolley 
car, and it’s such fun to watch them! Don’t you think 
so?” 

“ Well, no, Pollyanna, I can’t say that I do,” re¬ 
sponded Mrs. Carew, dryly, as she turned away. 

As it chanced, not two days later, Mrs. Carew 
heard something more of Pollyanna and trolley cars — 
this time from Mary. 

“ I mean, it’s queer, ma’am,” explained Mary ear¬ 
nestly, in answer to a question her mistress had asked, 
“ it’s queer how Miss Pollyanna just gets ’round 
everybody — and without half trying. It isn’t that 
she does anything. She doesn’t. She just — just 
looks glad, I guess, that’s all. But I’ve seen her get 
into a trolley car that was full of cross-looking men 
and women, and whimpering children, and in five 
minutes you wouldn’t know the place. The men and 
women have stopped scowling, and the children have 
forgot what they’re cryin’ for. 



78 


Polly anna Grows Up 

“ Sometimes it’s just somethin’ that Miss Polly- 
anna has said to me, and they’ve heard it. Some¬ 
times it’s just the ‘ Thank you,’ she gives when some¬ 
body insists on givin’ us their seat — and they’re al¬ 
ways doin’ that — givin’ us seats, I mean. And some¬ 
times it’s the way she smiles at a baby or a dog. All 
dogs everywhere wag their tails at her, anyway, and 
all babies, big and little, smile and reach out to her. 
If we get held up it’s a joke, and if we take the wrong 
car, it’s the funniest thing that ever happened. And 
that’s the way ’tis about everythin’. One just can’t 
stay grumpy, with Miss Pollyanna, even if you’re only 
one of a trolley car full of folks that don’t know her.” 

“Hm-m; very likely,” murmured Mrs. Carew, 
turning away. 

October proved to be, that year, a particularly 
warm, delightful month, and as the golden days came 
and went, it was soon very evident that to keep up 
with Pollyanna’s eager little feet was a task which 
would consume altogether too much of somebody’s 
time and patience; and, while Mrs. Carew had the 
one, she had not the other, neither had she the willing¬ 
ness to allow Mary to spend quite so much of her 
time (whatever her patience might be) in dancing 
attendance to Pollyanna’s whims and fancies. 

To keep the child indoors all through those glori¬ 
ous October afternoons was, of course, out of the 
question. Thus it came about that, before long, Pol¬ 
lyanna found herself once more in the “ lovely big 
yard ” — the Boston Public Garden — and alone. 



A New Acquaintance 


79 


Apparently she was as free as before, but in reality 
she was surrounded by a high stone wall of regula¬ 
tions. 

She must not talk to strange men or women; she 
must not play with strange children; and under no 
circumstances lpust she step foot outside the Garden 
except to come home. Furthermore, Mary, who had 
taken her to the Garden and left her, made very sure 
that she knew the way home — that she knew just 
where Commonwealth Avenue came down to Arling¬ 
ton Street across from the Garden. And always she 
must go home when the clock in the church tower said 
it was half-past four. 

Pollyanna went often to the Garden after this. 
Occasionally she went with some of the girls from 
school. More often she went alone. In spite of the 
somewhat irksome restrictions she enjoyed herself 
very much. She could watch the people even if she 
could not talk to them; and she could talk to the 
squirrels and pigeons and sparrows that so eagerly 
came for the nuts and grain which she soon learned 
to carry to them every time she went. 

Pollyanna often looked for her old friends of that 
first day — the man who was so glad he had his eyes 
and legs and arms, and the pretty young lady who 
would not go with the handsome man; but she never 
saw them. She did frequently see the boy in the wheel 
chair, and she wished she could talk to him. The boy 
fed the birds and squirrels, too, and they were so 
tame that the doves would perch on his head and 
shoulders, and the squirrels would burrow in his 



80 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


pockets for nuts. But Pollyanna, watching from a 
distance, always noticed one strange circumstance: in 
spite of the boy’s very evident delight in serving his 
banquet, his supply of food always ran short almost 
at once; and though he invariably looked fully as 
disappointed as did the squirrel after a nutless bur¬ 
rowing, yet he never remedied the matter by bringing 
more food the next day — which seemed most short¬ 
sighted to Pollyanna. 

When the boy was not playing with the birds and 
squirrels he was reading — always reading. In his 
chair were usually two or three worn books, and some¬ 
times a magazine or two. He was nearly always to 
be found in one especial place, and Pollyanna used to 
wonder how he got there. Then, one unforgetable 
day, she found out. It was a school holiday, and she 
had come to the Garden in the forenoon; and it was 
soon after she reached the place that she saw him be¬ 
ing wheeled along one of the paths by a snub-nosed, 
sandy-haired boy. She gave a keen glance into the 
sandy-haired boy’s face, then ran toward him with a 
glad little cry. 

“ Oh, you — you! I know you — even if I don’t 
know your name. You found me! Don’t you re¬ 
member? Oh, I’m so glad to see you! I’ve so 
wanted to say thank you! ” 

“ Gee, if it ain’t the swell little lost kid of the 
A vznoo!” grinned the boy. “Well, what do you 
know about that! Lost again ? ” 

“ Oh, no! ” exclaimed Pollyanna, dancing up and 
down on her toes in irrepressible joy. “ I can’t get 



A New Acquaintance 


81 


lost any more — I have to stay right here. And I 
mustn’t talk, you know. But I can to you, for I know 
you; and I can to him — after you introduce me,” she 
finished, with a beaming glance at ther lame boy, and 
a hopeful pause. 

The sandy-haired youth chuckled softly, and tapped 
the shoulder of the boy in the chair. 

“ Listen ter that, will ye ? Ain’t that the real thing, 
now? Just you wait while I intro dooce ye!” And 
he struck a pompous attitude. “ Madam, this is me 
friend, Sir James, Lord of Murphy’s Alley, and — ” 
But the boy in the chair interrupted him. 

“Jerry, quit your nonsense!” he cried vexedly. 
Then to Pollyanna he turned a glowing face. “ I’ve 
seen you here lots of times before. I’ve watched you 
feed the birds and squirrels — you always have such 
a lot for them! And I think you like Sir Lancelot 
the best, too. Of course, there’s the Lady Rowena — 
but wasn’t she rude to Guinevere yesterday — snatch¬ 
ing her dinner right away from her like that?” 

Pollyanna blinked and frowned, looking from one 
to the other of the boys in plain doubt. Jerry chuckled 
again. Then, with a final push he wheeled the chair 
into its usual position, and turned to go. Over his 
shoulder he called to Pollyanna: 

“ Say, kid, jest let me put ye wise ter somethin’. 
This chap ain’t drunk nor crazy. See? Them’s jest 
names he’s give his young friends here,” — with a 
flourish of his arms toward the furred and feathered 
creatures that were gathering from all directions. 
“ An’ they ain’t even names of folks. They’re just 



82 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


guys out of books. Are ye on? Yet he’d ruther feed 
them than feed hisself. Ain’t he the limit? Ta-ta, 
Sir James,” he added, with a grimace, to the boy in 
the chair. “Buck up, now — nix on the no grub 
racket for you! See you later.” And he was gone. 

Pollyanna was still blinking and frowning when 
the lame boy turned with a smile. 

“ You mustn’t mind Jerry. That’s just his way. 
He’d cut off his right hand for me — Jerry would; 
but he loves to tease. Where’d you see him? Does 
he know you? He didn’t tell me your name.” 

“ I’m Pollyanna Whittier. I was lost and he found 
me and took me home,” answered Pollyanna, still a 
little dazedly. 

“ I see. Just like him,” nodded the boy. “ Don’t 
he tote me up here every day? ” 

A quick sympathy came to Pollyanna’s eyes. 

“ Can’t you walk — at all — er — Sir J-James? ” 

The boy laughed gleefully. 

“ ‘ Sir James,’ indeed! That’s only more of Jerry’s 
nonsense. I ain’t a 4 Sir.’ ” 

Pollyanna looked clearly disappointed. 

“You aren’t? Nor a — a lord, like he said?” 

“ I sure ain’t.” 

“ Oh, I hoped you were — like Little Lord Fauntle- 
roy, you know,” rejoined Pollyanna. “ And — ” 

But the boy interrupted her with an eager: 

“ Do you know Little Lord Fauntleroy? And do 
you know about Sir Lancelot, and the Holy Grail, and 
King Arthur and his Round Table, and the Lady 
Rowena, and Ivanhoe, and all those? Do you?” 




A New Acquaintance 


Pollyanna gave her head a dubious shake. 

“ Well, I’m afraid maybe I don’t know all of ’em,” 
she admitted. “ Are they all — in books ? ” 

The boy nodded. 

“ I’ve got ’em here — some of ’em,” he said. “ I 
like to read ’em over and over. There’s always 
something new in ’em. Besides, I hain’t got no 
others, anyway. These were father’s. Here, you 
little rascal — quit that! ” he broke off in laughing 
reproof as a bushy-tailed squirrel leaped to his lap 
and began to nose in his pockets. “ Gorry, guess we’d 
better give them their dinner or they’ll be tryin’ to eat 
us,” chuckled the boy. “ That’s Sir Lancelot. He’s 
always first, you know.” 

From somewhere the boy produced a small paste¬ 
board box which he opened guardedly, mindful of the 
numberless bright little eyes that were watching every 
move. All about him now sounded the whir and 
flutter of wings, the cooing of doves, the saucy twitter 
of the sparrows. Sir Lancelot, alert and eager, oc¬ 
cupied one arm of the wheel chair. Another bushy- 
tailed little fellow, less venturesome, sat back on his 
haunches five feet away. A third squirrel chattered 
noisily on a neighboring tree-branch. 

From the box the boy took a few nuts, a small roll, 
and a doughnut. At the latter he looked longingly, 
hesitatingly. 

“ Did you — bring anything? ” he asked then. 

“ Lots — in here,” nodded Pollyanna, tapping the 
paper bag she carried. 

“ Oh, then perhaps I will eat it to-day,” sighed the 



84 Pollyanna Grows Up 

boy, dropping the doughnut back into the box with an 
air of relief. 

Pollyanna, on whom the significance of this action 
was quite lost, thrust her fingers into her own bag, 
and the banquet was on. 

It was a wonderful hour. To Pollyanna it was, in 
a way, the most wonderful hour she had ever spent, 
for she had found some one who could talk faster and 
longer than she could. This strange youth seemed to 
have an inexhaustible fund of marvelous stories of 
brave knights and fair ladies, of tournaments and 
battles. Moreover, so vividly did he draw his pic¬ 
tures that Pollyanna saw with her own eyes the deeds 
of valor, the knights in armor, and the fair ladies with 
their jeweled gowns and tresses, even though she 
was really looking at a flock of fluttering doves and 
sparrows and a group of frisking squirrels on a wide 
sweep of sunlit grass. 

The Ladies’ Aiders were forgotten. Even the glad 
game was not thought of. Pollyanna, with flushed 
cheeks and sparkling eyes was trailing down the 
golden ages led by a romance-fed boy who — though 
she did not know it — was trying to crowd into this 
one short hour of congenial companionship countless 
dreary days of loneliness and longing. 

Not until the noon bells sent Pollyanna hurrying 
homeward did she remember that she did not even yet 
know the boy’s name. 

“ I only know it isn’t ‘ Sir James,’ ” she sighed to 
herself, frowning with vexation. “ But never mind. 
I can ask him to-morrow.” 



r- 



u 


IT WAS A WONDERFUL HOUR 



























V., ; 



















CHAPTER VIII 


JAMIE 

Pollyanna did not see the boy “ to-morrow.” It 
rained, and she could not go to the Garden at all. It 
rained the next day, too. Even on the third day she 
did not see him, for, though the sun came out bright 
and warm, and though she went very early in the 
afternoon to the Garden and waited long, he did not 
come at all. But on the fourth day he was there in 
his old place, and Pollyanna hastened forward with a 
joyous greeting. 

“ Oh, Pm so glad, glad to see you! But where’ve 
you been? You weren’t here yesterday at all.” 

“ I couldn’t. The pain wouldn’t let me come yes¬ 
terday,” explained the lad, who was looking very 
white. 

“ The pain! Oh, does it — ache? ” stammered Pol¬ 
lyanna, all sympathy at once. 

“ Oh, yes, always,” nodded the boy, with a cheer¬ 
fully matter-of-fact air. “ Most generally I can stand 
it and come here just the same, except when it gets 
too bad, same as c.as yesterday. Then I can’t.” 

“ But how can you stand it — to have it ache — 
always ? ” gasped Pollyanna. 

“ Why, I have to,” answered the boy, opening his 
eyes a little wider. “ Things that are so are so, and 
they can’t be any other way. So what’s the use think- 
85 


86 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


ing how they might be? Besides, the harder it aches 
one day, the nicer ’tis to have it let-up the next.” 

“ I know! That’s like the ga— ” began Pollyanna; 
but the boy interrupted her. 

“ Did you bring a lot this time ? ” he asked anx¬ 
iously. “ Oh, I hope you did! You see I couldn’t 
bring them any to-day. Jerry couldn’t spare even a 
penny for peanuts this morning and there wasn’t 
really enough stuff in the box for me this noon.” 

Pollyanna looked shocked. 

“You mean — that you didn’t have enough to eat 
— yourself ? — for your luncheon ? ” 

“ Sure! ” smiled the boy. “ But don’t worry. ’Tisn’t 
the first time — and ’twon’t be the last. Pm used to 
it. Hi, there! here comes Sir Lancelot.” 

Pollyanna, however, was not thinking of squirrels. 

“ And wasn’t there any more at home ? ” 

“ Oh, no, there’s nev»r any left at home,” laughed 
the boy. “ You see, mumsey works out — stairs and 
washings —■ so she gets some of her feed in them 
places, and Jerry picks his up where he can, except 
nights and mornings; he gets it with us then — if 
we’ve got any.” 

Pollyanna looked still more shocked. 

“ But what do you do when you don’t have any¬ 
thing to eat ? ” 

“ Go hungry, of course.” 

“ But I never heard of anybody^who didn’t have 
anything to eat,” gasped Pollyanna. “ Of course 
father and I were poor, and we had to eat beans and 
fish balls when we wanted turkey. But we had some- 



Jamie 


87 


thing. Why don’t you tell folks — all these folks 
everywhere, that live in these houses?” 

“ What’s the use? ” 

“ Why, they’d give you something, of course! ” 

The boy laughed once more, this time a little 
queerly. 

“ Guess again, kid. You’ve got another one coming. 
Nobody I know is dishin’ out roast beef and frosted 
cakes for the askin’. Besides, if you didn’t go hungry 
once in a while, you wouldn’t know how good ’taters 
and milk can taste; and you wouldn’t have so much 
to put in your Jolly Book.” 

“ Your what?” 

The boy gave an embarrassed laugh and grew sud¬ 
denly red. 

“ Forget it! I didn’t think, for a minute, but you 
was mumsey or Jerry.” 

“ But what is your Jolly Book?” pleaded Polly- 
anna. “ Please tell me. Are there knights and lords 
and ladies in that? ” 

The boy shook his head. His eyes lost their 
laughter and grew dark and fathomless. 

“No; I wish’t there was,” he sighed wistfully. 
“ But when you — you can’t even walk, you can’t fight 
battles and win trophies, and have fair ladies hand 
you your sword, and bestow upon you the golden 
guerdon.” A sudden fire came to the boy’s eyes. His 
chin lifted itself is if in response to a bugle call. 
Then, as suddenly, the fire died, and the boy fell back 
into his old listlessness. 

“ You just can’t do nothin’,” he resumed wearily, 




88 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


after a moment’s silence. “ You just have to sit and 
think; and times like that your think gets to be some¬ 
thing awful. Mine did, anyhow. I wanted to go to 
school and learn things — more things than just 
mumsey can teach me; and I thought of that. I 
wanted to run and play ball with the other boys; and 
I thought of that. I wanted to go out and sell papers 
with Jerry; and I thought of that. I didn’t want to 
be taken care of all my life; and I thought of that.” 

“ I know, oh, I know,” breathed Pollyanna, with 
shining eyes. “Didn’t I lose my legs for a while? ” 

“ Did you ? Then you do know, some. But you’ve 
got yours again. I hain’t, you know,” sighed the boy, 
the shadow in his eyes deepening. 

“But you haven’t told me yet about — the Jolly 
Book,” prompted Pollyanna, after a minute. 

The boy stirred and laughed shamefacedly. 

“ Well, you see, it ain’t much, after all, except to 
me. You wouldn’t see much in it. I started it a 
year ago. I was feelin’ ’specially bad that day. 
Nothin’ was right. For a while I grumped it out, 
just thinkin’; and then I picked up one of father’s 
books and tried to read. And the first thing I see 
was this: I learned it afterwards, so I can say it now. 

ctt Pleasures lie thickest where no pleasures seem; 
There’s not a leaf that falls upon the ground 
But holds some joy, of silence or of sound .’ 1 

“ Well, I was mad. I wished I could put the guy 
that wrote that in my place, and see what kind of joy 

1 Blanchard. Lyric Offerings. Hidden Joys. 



Jamie 


89 


he’d find in my ‘ leaves.’ I was so mad I made up my 
mind I’d prove he didn’t know what he was talkin’ 
about, so I begun to hunt for ’em — the joys in my 
* leaves,’ you know. I took a little old empty note¬ 
book that Jerry had given me, and I said to myself 
that I’d write ’em down. Everythin’ that had any¬ 
thin’ about it that I liked I’d put down in the book. 
Then I’d just show how many ‘ joys ’ I had.” 

“ Yes, yes! ” cried Pollyanna, absorbedly, as the 
boy paused for breath. 

“ Well, I didn’t expect to get many, but — do you 
know ? — I got a lot. There was somethin’ about 
’most everythin’ that I liked a little, so in it had to 
go. The very first one was the book itself — that I’d 
got it, you know, to write in. Then somebody give 
me a flower in a pot, and Jerry found a dandy book 
in the subway. After that it was really fun to hunt 
’em out — I’d find ’em in such queer places, some¬ 
times. Then one day Jerry got hold of the little note¬ 
book, and found out what ’twas. Then he give it its 
name — the Jolly Book. And — and that’s all.” 

.“All — all!” cried Pollyanna, delight and amaze¬ 
ment struggling for the mastery on her glowing little 
face. “Why, that’s the game! You’re playing the 
glad game, and don’t know it — only you’re playing 
it ever and ever so much better than I ever could! 
Why, I — I couldn’t play it at all, I’m afraid, if I — 
I didn’t have enough to eat, and couldn’t ever walk, or 
anything,” she choked. 

“ The game ? What game ? I don’t know anything 
about any game/’ frowned the boy. 



90 


Pqliyanna Grows Up 

Pollyanna clapped her hands. 

“ I know you don’t — I know you don’t, and that’s 
why it’s so perfectly lovely, and so — so wonderful! 
But listen. I’ll tell you what the game is.” 

And she told him. 

“ Gee! ” breathed the boy appreciatively, when she 
had finished. “ Now what do you think of that! ” 

“ And here you are, playing my game better than 
anybody I ever saw, and I don’t even know your name 
yet, nor anything! ” exclaimed Pollyanna, in almost 
awestruck tones. “ But I want to; — I want to know 
everything.” 

“ Pooh! there’s nothing to know,” rejoined the boy, 
with a shrug. “ Besides, see, here’s poor Sir Lancelot 
and all the rest, waiting for their dinner,” he fin¬ 
ished. 

“ Dear me, so they are,” sighed Pollyanna, glan¬ 
cing impatiently at the fluttering and chattering crea¬ 
tures all about them. Recklessly she turned her bag 
upside down and scattered, her supplies to the four 
winds. “ There, now, that’s done, and we can talk 
again,” she rejoiced. “ And there’s such a lot I want 
to know. First, please, what is your name? I only 
know it isn’t ‘ Sir James.’ ” 

The boy smiled. 

“ No, it isn’t; but that’s what Jerry ’most always 
calls me. Mumsey and the rest call me ‘ Jamie.’ ” 

“ ‘ Jamie! ’ ” Pollyanna caught her breath and held 
it suspended, A wild hope had come to her eyes. It 
was followed almost instantly, however, by fearful 
doubt 





s 


Jamie 


91 


“’Does ‘ munisey ’ mean — mother? ” 

“ Sure!” 

Pollyanna relaxed visibly. Her face fell. If this 
Jamie had a mother, he could not, of course, be Mrs. 
Carew’s Jamie, whose mother had died long ago. 
Still, even as he was, he was wonderfully interest¬ 
ing. 

“ But where do> you live? ” she catechized eagerly. 
“ Is there anybody else in your family but your mother 
and — and Jerry? Do you always come here every 
day? Where is your Jolly Book? Mayn’t I see it? 
Don’t the doctors say you can ever walk again ? And 
where was it you said you got it? — this wheel chair, 
I mean.” 

The boy chuckled. 

“ Say, how many of them questions do you expect 
me to answer all at once? I’ll begin at the last one, 
anyhow, and work backwards, maybe, if I don’t for¬ 
get what they be. I got this chair a year ago. Jerry 
knew one of them fellers what writes for papers, you 

know, and he put it in about me-how I couldn’t 

ever walk, and all that, and — and the Jolly Book, 
you see. The first thing I knew, a whole lot of men 
and women come one day toting this chair, and said 
’twas for me. That they’d read all about me, and 
they wanted me to have it to remember them by.” 

“ My! how glad you must have been! ” 

“ I was. It took a whole page of my Jolly Book 
to tell about that chair.” 

“ But can’t you ever walk again? ” Pollyanna’s eyes 
were blurred with tears. 




92 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


“ It don’t look like it. They said I couldn’t.” 

“ Oh, but that’s what they said about me, and then 
they sent me to Dr. Ames, and I stayed ’most a year; 
and he made me walk. Maybe he could you!” 

The boy shook his head. 

“ He couldn’t — you see; I couldn’t go to him, any¬ 
way. ’Twould cost too much. We’ll just have to call 
it that I can’t ever — walk again. But never mind.” 
The boy threw back his head impatiently. “ I’m try¬ 
ing not to think of that. You knovv what it is when — 
• when your think gets to going.” 

“ Yes, yes, of course — and here I am talking about 
it! ” cried Pollyanna, penitently. “ I said you knew 
how to play the game better than I did, now. But go 
on. You haven’t told me half, yet. Where do you 
live? And is Jerry all the brothers and sisters you’ve 
got?” 

A swift change came to the boy’s face. His eyes 
glowed. 

“ Yes— and he ain’t mine, really. He ain’t any 
relation, nor mumsey ain’t, neither. And only think 
how good they’ve been to me 1 ” 

“ What’s that ? ” questioned Pollyanna, instantly 
on the alert. “ Isn’t that — that ‘ mumsey ’ your 
mother at all ? ” 

“No; and that’s what makes — ” 

“ And haven’t you got any mother ? ” interrupted 
Pollyanna, in growing excitement. 

“No; I never remember any mother, and father 
died six years ago.” 

“How old were you?” 



Jamie 


93 


“ I don’t know. I was little. Mumsey says she 
guesses maybe I was about six. That’s when they 
took me, you see.” 

“ And your name is Jamie? ” Pollyanna was hold¬ 
ing her breath. 

“ Why, yes, I told you that.” 

“ And what’s the other name ? ” Longingly, but 
fearfully, Pollyanna asked this question. 

“ I don’t know.” 

“ You don't know!” 

“ I don’t remember. I was too little, I suppose. 
Even the Murphys don’t know. They never knew 
me as anything but Jamie.” 

A great disappointment came to Pollyanna’s face, 
but almost immediately a flash of thought drove the 
shadow away. 

“ Well, anyhow, if you don’t know what your name 
is, you can’t know it isn’t ‘ Kent ’! ” she exclaimed. 

“ ‘ Kent ’ ? ” puzzled the boy. 

“ Yes,” began Pollyanna, all excitement. “ You 
see, there was a little boy named Jamie Kent that — ” 
She stopped abruptly and bit her lip. It had occurred 
to Pollyanna that it would be kinder not to let this 
boy know yet of her hope that he might be the lost 
Jamie. It would be better that she make sure of it 
before raising any expectations, otherwise she might 
be bringing him sorrow rather than joy. She had 
not forgotten how disappointed Jimmy Bean had been 
when she had been obliged to tell him that the Ladies’ 
Aid did not want him, and again when at first Mr. 
Pendleton had not wanted him, either. She was de- 



94 Follyanna Grows Up 


termined that she would not make the same mistake 
a third time;* so very promptly now she assumed an 
air of elaborate indifference on this most dangerous 
subject, as she said: 

“ But never mind about Jamie Kent. Tell me about 
yourself. I’m so interested! ” 

“ There isn’t anything to tell. I don’t know any¬ 
thing nice,” hesitated the boy. “ They said father 
was — was queer, and never talked. They didn’t 
even know his name. Everybody called him ‘ The 
Professor.’ Mumsey says he and I lived in a little 
back room on the top floor of the house in Lowell 
where they used to live. They were poor then, but 
they wasn’t near so poor as they are now. Jerry’s 
father was alive them days, and had a job.” 

“ Yes, yes, go on,” prompted Pollyanna. 

“ Well, mumsey says my father was sick a lot, and 
he got queerer and queerer, so that they had me down¬ 
stairs with them a good deal. I could walk then, a 
little, but my legs wasn’t right. I played with Jerry, 
and the little girl that died. Well, when father died 
there wasn’t anybody to take me, and some men were 
goin’ to put me in an orphan asylum; but mumsey 
says I took on so, and Jerry took on so, that they said 
they’d keep me. And they did. The little girl had 
just died, and they said I might take her place. And 
they’ve had me ever since. And I fell and got worse, 
and they’re awful poor now, too, besides Jerry’s father 
dyin’. But they’ve kept me. Now ain’t that what you 
call bein’ pretty good to a feller?” 

“ Yes, oh, yes,” cried Pollyanna. “ But they’ll get 



Jamie 


95 


their reward — I know they’ll get their reward! ” 
Polly anna was quivering with delight now. The last 
doubt had fled. She had found the lost Jamie. She 
was sure of it. But not yet must she speak. First 
Mrs. Carew must see him. Then — then —/ Even 
Pollyanna’s imagination failed when it came to pic¬ 
turing the bliss in store for Mrs. Carew and Jamie at 
that glad reunion. 

She sprang lightly to her feet in utter disregard of 
Sir Lancelot who had come back and was nosing in 
her lap for more nuts. 

“ Eve got to go now, but I’ll come again to-morrow. 
Maybe I’ll have a lady with me that you’ll like to 
know. You’ll be here to-morrow, won’t you?” she 
finished anxiously. 

“ Sure, if it’s pleasant. Jerry totes me up here 
’most every mornin’. They fixed it so he could, you 
know; and I bring my dinner and stay till four 
o’clock. Jerry’s good to me — he is! ” 

“ I know, I know,” nodded Pollyanna. “ And 
maybe you’ll find somebody else to be good to you, 
too,” she caroled. With which cryptic statement and 
a beaming smile, she was gone. 




CHAPTER IX 


PLANS AND PLOTTINGS 

On the way home Pollyanna made joyous plans. 
To-morrow, in some way or other, Mrs. Carew must 
be persuaded to go with her for a walk in the Public 
Garden. Just how this was to be brought about Pol¬ 
lyanna did not know; but brought about it must be. 

To tell Mrs. Carew plainly that she had found 
Jamie, and wanted her to go to see him, was out of 
the question. There was, of course, a bare chance 
that this might not be her Jamie; and if it were not, 
and if she had thus raised in Mrs. Carew false hopes, 
the result might be disastrous. Pollyanna knew, from 
what Mary had told her, that twice already Mrs. 
Carew had been made very ill by the great disappoint¬ 
ment of following alluring clues that had led to some 
boy very different from her dead sister’s son. So 
Pollyanna knew that she could not tell Mrs. Carew 
why she wanted her tO' go to walk to-morrow in the 
Public Garden. But there would be a way, declared 
Pollyanna to herself as she happily hurried homeward. 

Fate, however, as it happened, once more inter¬ 
vened in the shape of a heavy rainstorm; and Polly¬ 
anna did not have to more than look out of doors the 
next morning to realize that there would be no Public 
Garden stroll that day. Worse yet, neither the next 
96 


Plans and Plottings 


97 


day nor the next saw the clouds dispelled; and Polly- 
anna spent all three afternoons wandering from win¬ 
dow to window, peering up into the sky, and anxiously 
demanding of every one: “ Don't you think it looks 
a little like clearing up? ” 

So unusual was this behavior on the part of the 
cheery little girl, and so irritating was the constant 
questioning, that at last Mrs. Carew lost her pa¬ 
tience. 

‘‘For pity's sake, child, what is the trouble?” she 
cried. “ I never knew you to fret so about the 
weather. Where’s that wonderful glad game of yours 
to-day ? ” 

Pollyanna reddened and looked abashed. 

“ Dear me, I reckon maybe I did forget the game 
this time,” she admitted. “ And of course there is 
something about it I can be glad for, if I’ll only hunt 
for it. I can be glad that — that it will have to stop 
raining sometime ’cause God said he wouldn't send 
another flood. But you see, I did so want it to be 
pleasant to-day.” 

“ Why, especially? ” 

“ Oh, I — I just wanted to go to walk in the Public 
Garden.” Pollyanna was trying hard to speak uncon¬ 
cernedly. “ I — I thought maybe you’d like to go with 
me, too.” Outwardly Pollyanna was nonchalance it¬ 
self. Inwardly, however, she was aquiver with ex¬ 
citement and suspense. 

“ I go to walk in the Public Garden ? ” queried Mrs. 
Carew, with brows slightly uplifted. “ Thank you, 
no, I’m afraid not,” she smiled. 



98 


Foilyanna Grows Up 


“ Oh, but you — you wouldn’t refuse!” faltered 
Pollyanna, in quick panic. 

“ I have refused.” 

Pollyanna swallowed convulsively. She had grown 
really pale. 

“ But, Mrs. Carew, please, please don’t say you 
won’t go, when it gets pleasant,” she begged. “ You 
see, for a — a special reason I wanted you to go — 
with me — just this once.” 

Mrs. Carew frowned. She opened her lips to make 
the “ no ” more decisive; but something in Polly- 
anna’s pleading eyes must have changed the words, 
for when they came they were a reluctant acquiescence. 

“ Well, well, child, have your own way. But if I 
promise to go, you must promise not to go near the 
window for an hour, and not to ask again to-day if I 
think it’s going to clear up.” 

“ Yes’m, I will — I mean, I won’t,” palpitated Pol¬ 
lyanna. Then, as a pale shaft of light that was almost 
a sunbeam, came aslant through the window, she cried 
joyously: “ But you do think it is going to — Oh! ” 
she broke off in dismay, and ran from the room. 

Unmistakably it “ cleared up ” the next morning. 
But, though the sun shone brightly, there was a sharp 
chill in the air, and by afternoon, when Pollyanna 
came home from school, there was a brisk wind. In 
spite of protests, however, she insisted that it was a 
beautiful day out, and that she should be perfectly 
miserable if Mrs. Carew would not come for a walk 
in the Public Garden. And Mrs. Carew went, though 
still protesting. 




Plans and Plottings 


99 


As might have been expected, it was a fruitless 
journey. Together the impatient woman and the 
anxious-eyed little girl hurried shiveringly up one path 
and down another. (Pollyanna, not finding the boy 
in his accustomed plaee, was making frantic search in 
every nook and corner of the Garden. To Pollyanna 
it seemed that she could not have it so. Here she 
was in the Garden, and here with her was Mrs. Carew; 
but not anywhere to be found was Jamie — and yet 
not one word could she say to Mrs. Carew.) At last, 
thoroughly chilled and exasperated, Mrs. Carew in¬ 
sisted on going home; and despairingly Pollyanna 
went. 

Sorry days came to Pollyanna then. What to her 
was perilously near a second deluge — but according 
to Mrs. Carew was merely “ the usual fall rains ” — 
brought a series of damp, foggy, cold, cheerless days, 
filled with either a dreary drizzle of rain, or, worse 
yet, a steady downpour. If perchance occasionally 
there came a day of sunshine, Pollyanna always flew 
to the Garden; but in vain. Jamie was never there. 
It was the middle of November now, and even the 
Garden itself was full of dreariness. The trees were 
bare, the benches almost empty, and not one boat was 
on the little pond. True, the squirrels and pigeons 
were there, and the sparrows were as pert as ever, but 
to feed them was almost more of a sorrow than a joy, 
for every saucy switch of Sir Lancelot’s feathery tail 
but brought bitter memories of the lad who had given 
him his name — and who was not there. 

“ And to think I didn’t find out where he lived! ” 



100 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


mourned Pollyanna to herself over and over again, as 
the days passed. “ And he was Jamie — I just know 
he was Jamie. And now I’ll have to wait and wait till 
spring comes, and it’s warm enough for him to come 
here again. And then, maybe, I sha’n’t be coming 
here by that time. O dear, O dear — and he was 
Jamie, I know he was Jamie! ” 

Then, one dreary afternoon, the unexpected hap¬ 
pened. Pollyanna, passing through the upper hall¬ 
way heard angry voices in the hall below, one of 
which she recognized as being Mary’s, while the other 
— the other — 

The other voice was saying: 

“ Not on yer life! It’s nix on the beggin’ business. 
Do yer get me? I wants ter see the kid, Pollyanna. 
I got a message for her from — from Sir James. 
Now beat it, will ye, and trot out the kid, if ye don’t 
mind.” 

With a glad little cry Pollyanna turned and fairly 
flew down the stairway. 

“ Oh, I’m here, I’m here, I’m right here!” she 
panted, stumbling forward. “ What is it? Did Jamie 
send you? ” 

In her excitement she had almost flung herself with 
outstretched arms upon the boy when Mary inter¬ 
cepted a shocked, restraining hand. 

“ Miss Pollyanna, Miss Pollyanna, do you mean to 
say you know this — this beggar boy?” 

The boy flushed angrily; but before he could speak 
Pollyanna interposed valiant championship. 

“ He isn’t a beggar boy. He belongs to one of my 



Plans and Plottings 


101 


very best friends. Besides, he’s the one that found me 
and brought me home that time I was lost.” Then 
to the boy she turned with impetuous questioning. 
“ What is it? Did Jamie send you? ” 

“ Sure he did. He hit the hay a month ago, and he 
hain’t been up since.” 

“ He hit — what? ” puzzled Pollyanna. 

“ Hit the hay — went ter bed. He’s sick, I mean, 
and he wants ter see ye. Will ye come?” 

“Sick? Oh, I’m iso sorry!” grieved Pollyanna. 
“Of course I’ll come. I’ll go get my hat and coat 
right away.” 

“ Miss Pollyanna! ” gasped Mary in stern disap¬ 
proval. “ As if Mrs. Carew would let you go — any¬ 
where with a strange boy like this! ” 

“ But he isn’t a strange boy,” objected Pollyanna. 
“ I’ve known him ever so long, and I must go. I —” 

“ What in the world is the meaning of this? ” de¬ 
manded Mrs. Carew icily from the drawing-room 
doorway. “ Pollyanna, who is this boy, and what is 
he doing here? ” 

Pollyanna turned with a quick cry. 

“ Oh, Mrs. Carew, you’ll let me go, won’t you? ” 

“Go where?” 

“To see my brother, ma’am,” cut in the boy hur¬ 
riedly, and with an obvious effort to be very polite. 
“ He’s sort of off his feed, ye know, and he wouldn’t 
give me no peace till I come up — after her,” with an 
awkward gesture toward Pollyanna. “ He thinks a 
sight an’ all of her.” 

“ I may go, mayn’t I ? ” pleaded Pollyanna. 



102 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


Mrs. Carew frowned. 

“Go with this boy — youf Certainly not, Polly¬ 
anna! I wonder you are wild enough to think of it 
for a moment.” 

“ Oh, but I want you to come, too,” began Polly¬ 
anna. 

“I? Absurd, child! That is impossible. You 
may give this boy here a little money, if you like, 
but — ” 

“ Thank ye, ma’am, but I didn’t come for money,” 
resented the boy, his eyes flashing. “ I come for — 
her.” 

“ Yes, and Mrs. Carew, it’s Jerry — Jerry Murphy, 
the boy that found me when I was lost, and brought 
me home,” appealed Pollyanna. “ Nozv won’t you let 
me go? ” 

Mrs. Carew shook her head. 

“ It is out of the question, Pollyanna.” 

“But he says Ja-the other boy is sick, and 

wants me! ” 

“ I can’t help that.” 

“ And I know him real well, Mrs. Carew. I do, 
truly. He reads books — lovely books, all full of 
knights and lords and ladies, and he feeds the birds 
and squirrels and gives ’em names, and everything. 
And he can’t walk, and he doesn’t have enough to eat, 
lots of days,” panted Pollyanna; “ and he’s been play¬ 
ing my glad game for a year, and didn’t know it. And 
he plays it ever and ever so much better than I do. And 
I’ve hunted and hunted for him, ever and ever so many 
days. Honest and truly, Mrs. Carew, I’ve just got to 





Plans and Plottings 103 

see him,” almost sobbed Pollyanna. “ I can’t lose him 
again! ” 

An angry color flamed into Mrs. Carew’s cheeks. 

“ Pollyanna, this is sheer nonsense. I am surprised. 
I am amazed at you for insisting upon doing some¬ 
thing you know I disapprove of. I can not allow 
you to go with this boy. Now please let me hear no 
more about it.” 

A new expression came to Pollyanna’s face. With 
a look half-terrified, half-exalted, she lifted her chin 
and squarely faced Mrs. Carew. Tremulously, but 
determinedly, she spoke. 

“ Then I’ll have to tell you. I didn’t mean to — 
till I was sure. I wanted you to see him first. But 
now I’ve got to tell. I can’t lose him again. I think, 
Mrs. Carew, he’s — Jamie.” 

“ Jamie! Not — my — Jamie! ” Mrs. Carew’s 
face had grown very white. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Impossible! ” 

“I know; but, please, his name is Jamie, and he 
doesn’t know the other one. His father died when 
he was six years old, and he can’t remember his 
mother. He’s twelve years old, he thinks. These 
folks took him in when his father died, and his father 
was queer, and didn’t tell folks his name, and — ” 

But Mrs. Carew had stopped her with a gesture. 
Mrs. Carew was even whiter than before, but her eyes 
burned with a sudden fire. 

“ We’ll go at once,” she said. “ Mary, tell Perkins 
to have the car here as soon as possible. Pollyanna, 



104 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


get your hat and coat. Boy, wait here, please. We’ll 
be ready to go with you immediately.” The next 
minute she had hurried up-stairs. 

In the hall the boy drew a long breath. 

“ Gee whiz!” he muttered softly. “ If we ain’t 
goin’ ter go in a buzz-wagon! Some class ter that! 
Gorry! what’ll Sir James say?” 



CHAPTER X 


in murphy’s alley 

With the opulent purr that seems to be peculiar 
to luxurious limousines, Mrs. Carew’s car rolled down 
Commonwealth Avenue and out upon Arlington Street 
to Charles. Inside sat a shining-eyed little girl and a 
white-faced, tense woman. Outside, to give directions 
to the plainly disapproving chauffeur, sat Jerry 
Murphy, inordinately proud and insufferably im¬ 
portant. 

When the limousine came to a stop before a shabby 
doorway in a narrow, dirty alley, the boy leaped to 
the ground, and, with a ridiculous imitation of the 
liveried pomposities he had so often watched, threw 
open the door of the car and stood waiting for the 
ladies to alight. 

Pollyanna sprang out at once, her eyes widening 
with amazement and distress as she looked about her. 
Behind her came Mrs. Carew, visibly shuddering as 
her gaze swept the filth, the sordidness, and the ragged 
children that swarmed shrieking and chattering out 
of the dismal tenements, and surrounded the car in a 
second. 

Jerry waved his arms angrily. 

“ Here, you, beat it! ” he yelled to the motley 
throng. “ This ain’t no free movies! Can that racket 
105 


106 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


and get a move on ye. Lively, now! We gotta get 
by. Jamie’s got comp’ny.” 

Mrs. Carew shuddered again, and laid a trembling 
hand on Jerry’s shoulder. 

“ Not — here! ” she recoiled. 

But the boy did not hear. With shoves and pushes 
from sturdy fists and elbows, he was making a path 
for his charges; and before Mrs. Carew knew quite 
how it was done, she found herself with the boy and 
Pollyanna at the foot of a rickety flight of stairs in a 
dim, evil-smelling hallway. 

Once more she put out a shaking hand. 

“Wait,” she commanded huskily. “Remember! 
Don’t either of you say a word about — about his 
being possibly the boy I’m looking for. I must see 
for myself first, and — question him.” 
f “ Of course! ” agreed Pollyanna. 

“Sure! I’m on,” nodded the boy. “I gotta go 
right off anyhow, so I won’t bother ye none. Now 
toddle easy up these ’ere stairs. There’s always holes, 
and most generally there’s a kid or two asleep some- 
wheres. An’ the elevator ain’t runnin’ ter-day,” he 
gibed cheerfully. “ We gotta go ter the top, too! ” 

Mrs. Carew found the “ holes ” — broken boards 
that creaked and bent fearsomely under her shrinking 
feet; and she found one “kid” — a two-year-old 
baby playing with an empty tin can on a string which 
he was banging up and down the second flight of 
stairs. On all sides doors were opened, now boldly, 
now stealthily, but always disclosing women with 
tousled heads or peering children with dirty faces, 



In Murphy’s Alley 


107 


Somewhere a baby was wailing piteously. Some¬ 
where else a man was cursing. Everywhere was the 
smell of bad whiskey, stale cabbage, and unwashed 
humanity. 

At the top of the third and last stairway the boy 
came to a pause before a closed door. 

“ I'm just a-thinkin’ what Sir James’ll say when 
he’s wise ter the prize package I’m bringin’ him,” he 
whispered in a throaty voice. “ I know what mum- 
sey’ll do — she’ll turn on the weeps in no time ter see 
Jamie so tickled.” The next moment he threw wide 
the door with a gay: “ Here we be — an’ we come in 
a buzz-wagon! Ain’t that goin’ some, Sir James?” 

It was a tiny room, cold and cheerless and pitifully 
bare, but scrupulously neat. There were here no 
tousled heads, no peering children, no odors of 
whiskey, cabbage, and unclean humanity. There were 
two beds, three broken chairs, a dry-goods-box table, 
and a stove with a faint glow of light that told of a 
fire not nearly brisk enough to heat even that tiny 
room. On one of the beds lay a lad with flushed 
cheeks and fever-bright eyes. Near him sat a thin, 
white-faced woman, bent and twisted with rheuma¬ 
tism. 

Mrs. Carew stepped into the room and, as if to 
steady herself, paused a minute with her back to the 
wall. Pollyanna hurried forward with a low cry just 
as Jerry, with an apologetic “ I gotta go now; 
good-by! ” dashed through the door. 

“ Oh, Jamie, I’m so glad I’ve found you,” cried 
Pollyanna. “ You don’t know how I’ve looked and 



108 Pollyanna Grows Up 

looked for you every day. But I’m so sorry you’re 
sick! ” 

Jamie smiled radiantly and held out a thin white 
hand. 

“ I ain’t sorry — I’m glad ” he emphasized mean¬ 
ingly ; “ ’cause it’s brought you to see me. Besides, 
I’m better now, anyway. Mumsey, this is the little 
girl, you know, that told me the glad game — and 
mumsey’s playing it, too,” he triumphed, turning back 
to Pollyanna. “ First she cried ’cause her back hurts 
too bad to let her work; then when I was took worse 
she was glad she couldn’t work, ’cause she could be 
here to take care of me, you know.” 

At that moment Mrs. Carew hurried forward, her 
eyes half-fearfully, half-longingly on the face of the 
lame boy in the bed. 

“ It’s Mrs. Carew. I’ve brought her to see you, 
Jamie,” introduced Pollyanna, in a tremulous voice. 

The little twisted woman by the bed had struggled 
to her feet by this time, and was nervously offering 
her chair. Mrs. Carew accepted it without so much 
as a glance. Her eyes were still on the boy in the bed. 

* “Your name is — Jamie?” she asked, with visible 
difficulty. 

“ Yes, ma’am.” The boy’s bright eyes looked 
straight into hers. 

“ What is your other name ? ” 

“ I don’t know.” 

“He is not your son?” For the first time Mrs. 
Carew turned to the twisted little woman who was 
still standing by the bed. 





In Murphy’s Alley 


109 


“ No, madam.” 

. “ And you don’t know his name ? ” 

“ No, madam. I never knew it.” 

With a despairing gesture Mrs. Carew turned back 
to the boy. 

“ But think, think — don’t you remember anything 
of your name but — Jamie? ” 

The boy shook his head. Into his eyes was coming 
a puzzled wonder. 

“ No, nothing.” 

“ Haven’t you anything that belonged to your 
father, with possibly his name in it? ” 

“ There wasn’t anythin’ worth savin’ but them 
books,” interposed Mrs. Murphy. “ Them’s his. 
Maybe you’d like to look at ’em,” she suggested, 
pointing to a row of worn volumes on a shelf across 
the room. Then, in plainly uncontrollable curiosity, 
she asked: “ Was you thinkin’ you knew him, 
ma’am ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” murmured Mrs. Carew, in a half- 
stifled voice, as she rose to her feet and crossed the 
room to the shelf of books. 

There were not many — perhaps ten or a dozen. 
There was a volume of Shakespeare’s plays, an 
“ Ivanhoe,” a much-thumbed “ Lady of the Lake,” a 
book of miscellaneous poems, a coverless “ Tennyson,” 
a dilapidated “ Little Lord Fauntleroy,” and two or 
three books of ancient and medieval history. But, 
though Mrs. Carew looked carefully through every 
one, she found nowhere any written word. With a 
despairing sigh she turned back to the boy and to the 



110 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


woman, both of whom now were watching her with 
startled, questioning eyes. 

“ I wish you’d tell me — both of you — all you 
know about yourselves,” she said brokenly, dropping 
herself once more into the chair by the bed. 

And they told her. It was much the same story that 
Jamie had told Pollyanna in the Public Garden. 
There was little that was new, nothing that was sig¬ 
nificant, in spite of the probing questions that Mrs. 
Carew asked. At its conclusion Jamie turned eager 
eyes on Mrs. Carew’s face. 

“ Do you think you knew — my father?” he 
begged. 

Mrs. Carew closed her eyes and pressed her hand 
to her head. 

“ I don’t — know,” she answered. “ But I think — 
not.” 

Pollyanna gave a quick cry of keen disappointment, 
but as quickly she suppressed it in obedience to Mrs. 
Carew’s warning glance. With new horror, however, 
she surveyed the tiny room. 

Jamie, turning his wondering eyes from Mrs. 
Carew’s face, suddenly awoke to his duties as host. 

“ Wasn’t you good to come!” he said to Polly¬ 
anna, gratefully. “How’s Sir Lancelot? Do you 
ever go to feed him now ? ” Then, as Pollyanna did 
not answer at once, he hurried on, his eyes going from 
her face to the somewhat battered pink in a broken¬ 
necked bottle in the window. “ Did you see my 
posy? Jerry found it. Somebody dropped it and he 
picked it up. Ain’t it pretty? And it smells a little.” 



In Murphy’s Alley 


111 


But Pollyanna did not seem even to have heard 
him. She was still gazing, wide-eyed about the room, 
clasping and unclasping her hands nervously. 

“ But I don’t see how you can ever play the game 
here at all, Jamie,” she faltered. “ I didn’t suppose 
there could be anywhere such a perfectly awful place 
to live,” she shuddered. 

“ Ho! ” scoffed Jamie, valiantly. “ You’d oughter 
see the Pikes’ down-stairs. Theirs is a whole lot 
worse’n this. You don’t know what a lot of nice 
things there is about this room. Why, we get the sun 
in that winder there for ’most two hours every day, 
when it shines. And if you get real near it you can 
see a whole lot of sky from it. If we could only keep 
the room! — but you see we’ve got to leave, we’re 
afraid. And that’s what’s worrin’ us.” 

“ Leave!,” 

“ Yes. We got behind on the rent — mumsey bein’ 
sick so, and not earnin’ anythin’.” In spite of a cou¬ 
rageously cheerful smile, Jamie’s voice shook. “ Mis’ 
Dolan down-stairs — the woman what keeps my wheel 
chair for me, you know — is helpin’ us out this week. 
But of course she can’t do it always, and then we’ll 
have to go — if Jerry don’t strike it rich, or some¬ 
thin’” 

“ Oh, but can’t we — ” began Pollyanna. 

She stopped short. Mrs. Carew had risen to her 
feet abruptly with a hurried: 

“ Come, Pollyanna, we must go.” Then to the 
woman she turned wearily. “ You won’t have to leave. 
I’ll send you money and food at once, and I’ll men- 



112 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


tion your case to one of the charity organizations in 
which I am interested, and they will — ” 

In surprise she ceased speaking. The bent little 
figure of the woman opposite had drawn itself almost 
erect. Mrs. Murphy’s cheeks were flushed. Her eyes 
showed a smouldering fire. 

“ Thank you, no, Mrs. Carew,” she said tremu¬ 
lously, but proudly. “ We’re poor — God knows; but 
we ain’t charity folks.” 

“ Nonsense! ” cried Mrs. Carew, sharply. “ You’re 
letting the woman down-stairs help you. This boy 
said so.” 

“ I know; but that ain’t charity,” persisted the 
woman, still tremulously. “ Mrs. Dolan is my friend. 
She knows I’d do her a good turn just as quick — I 
have done ’em for her in times past. Help from 
friends ain’t charity. They care; and that — that 
* makes a difference. We wa’n’t always as we are now, 
you see; and that makes it hurt all the more — all 
this. Thank you; but we couldn’t take — your 
money.” 

Mrs. Carew frowned angrily. It had been a most 
disappointing, heart-breaking, exhausting hour for 
her. Never a patient woman, she was exasperated 
now, besides being utterly tired out. 

“ Very well, just as you please,” she said coldly. 
Then, with vague irritation she added: “ But why 
don’t you go to your landlord and insist that he make 
you even decently comfortable while you do' stay? 
Surely you’re entitled to something besides bro¬ 
ken windows stuffed with rags and papers! And 




In Murphy's Alley 113 


those stairs that I came up are positively danger¬ 
ous/’ 

Mrs. Murphy sighed in a discouraged way. Her 
twisted little figure had fallen back into its old hope¬ 
lessness. 

“ We have tried to have something done, but it’s 
never amounted to anything. We never see anybody 
but the agent, of course; and he says the rents are 
too low for the owner to put out any more money on 
repairs.” 

“ Nonsense!” snapped Mrs. Carew, with all the 
sharpness of a nervous, distraught woman who has 
at last found an outlet for her exasperation. “ It’s 
shameful! What’s more, I think it’s a clear case of 
violation of the law;—those stairs are, certainly. 
I shall make it my business to see that he’s brought 
to terms. What is the name of that agent, and who 
is the owner of this delectable establishment? ” 

“I don’t know the name of the owner, madam; 
but the agent is Mr. Dodge.” 

“ Dodge! ” Mrs. Carew turned sharply, an odd 
look on her face. “ You don’t mean — Henry 
Dodge?” 

“ Yes, madam. His name is Henry, I think.” 

A flood of color swept into Mrs. Carew’s face, then 
receded, leaving it whiter than before. 

“ Very well, I — I’ll attend to it,” she murmured, 
in a half-stifled voice, turning away. “ Come, Polly- 
anna, we must go now.” 

Over at the bed Pollyanna was bidding Jamie a tear¬ 
ful good-by. 



114 1 


Polly anna Grows Up 


“ But I’ll come again. I’ll come real soon,” she 
promised brightly, as she hurried through the door 
after Mrs. Carew. 

Not until they had picked their precarious way 
down the three long flights of stairs and through the 
jabbering, gesticulating crowd of men, women, and 
children that surrounded the scowling Perkins and 
the limousine, did Pollyanna speak again. But then 
she scarcely waited for the irate chauffeur to slam 
the door upon them before she pleaded: 

“ Dear Mrs. Carew, please, please say that it was 
Jamie! Oh, it would be so nice for him to be Jamie.” 

“ But he isn’t Jamie! ” 

“ O dear! Are you sure?” 

There was a moment’s pause, then Mrs. Carew 
covered her face with her hands. 

“ No, Pm not sure — and that’s the tragedy of it,” 
she moaned. “ I don’t think he is; Pm almost posi¬ 
tive he isn’t. But, of course, there is a chance — and 
that’s what’s killing me.” 

“ Then can’t you just think he’s Jamie,” begged 
Pollyanna, “ and play he was ? Then you could take 
him home, and — ” But Mrs. Carew turned fiercely. 

“ Take that boy into my home when he wasn't 
Jamie? Never, Pollyanna! I couldn’t.” 

“ But if you can’t help Jamie, I should think you’d 
be so glad there was some one like him you could 
help,” urged Pollyanna, tremulously. “ What if your 
Jamie was like this Jamie, all poor and sick, wouldn’t 
you want some one to take him in and comfort him, 
and — ” 




In Murphy's Alley 


115 


“ Don’t — don’t, Pollyanna,” moaned Mrs. Carew, 
turning her head from side to side, in a frenzy of 
grief. “ When I think that maybe, somewhere, our 
Jamie is like that — ” Only a choking sob finished 
the sentence. 

“ That’s just what I mean — that’s just what I 
mean! ” triumphed Pollyanna, excitedly. “ Don’t you 
see? If this is your Jamie, of course you’ll want him; 
and if it isn’t, you couldn’t be doing any harm to the 
other Jamie by taking this one, and you’d do a whole 
lot of good, for you’d make this one so happy — so 
happy! And then, by and by, if you should find the 
real Jamie, you wouldn’t have lost anything, but you’d 
have made two little boys happy instead of one; 
and — ” But again Mrs. Carew interrupted her. 

“ Don’t, Pollyanna, don’t! I want to think — I 
want to think.” 

Tearfully Pollyanna sat back in her seat. By a 
very visible effort she kept still for one whole minute. 
Then, as if the words fairly bubbled forth of them¬ 
selves, there came this: 

“ Oh, but what an awful, awful place that was! I 
just wish the man that owned it had to live in it him¬ 
self — and then see what he’d have to be glad for! ” 

Mrs. Carew sat suddenly erect. Her face showed a 
curious change. Almost as if in appeal she flung out 
her hand toward Pollyanna. 

“ Don’t! ” she cried. “ Perhaps — she didn’t 
know, Pollyanna. Perhaps she didn’t know. Pm 
sure she didn’t know — she owned a place like that 
But it will be fixed now — it will be fixed.” 




116 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


“She! Is it a woman that owns it, and do you 
know her? And do you know the agent, too? ” 

“ Yes.” Mrs. Carew bit her lips. “ I know her, 
and I know the agent.” 

“ Oh, I’m so glad,” sighed Pollyanna. “ Then it’ll 
be all right now.” 

“Well, it certainly will be — better,” avowed Mrs. 
Carew with emphasis, as the car stopped before her 
own door. 

Mrs. Carew spoke as if she knew what she was talk¬ 
ing about. And perhaps, indeed, she did — better 
than she cared to tell Pollyanna. Certainly, before 
she slept that night, a letter left her hands addressed 
to one Henry Dodge, summoning him to an immedi¬ 
ate conference as to certain changes and repairs to be 
made at once in tenements she owned. There were, 
moreover, several scathing sentences concerning 
“ rag-stuffed windows,” and “ rickety stairways,” that 
caused this same Henry Dodge to scowl angrily, and 
to say a sharp word behind his teeth — though at the 
same time he paled with something very like fear. 



CHAPTER XI 


A SURPRISE FOR MRS. CAREW 

The matter of repairs and improvements having 
been properly and efficiently attended to, Mrs. Carew 
told herself that she had done her duty, and that the 
matter was closed. She would forget it. The boy 
was not Jamie — he could not be Jamie. That igno¬ 
rant, sickly, crippled boy her dead sister's son? Im¬ 
possible! She would cast the whole thing from her 
thoughts. . 

It was just here, however, that Mrs. Carew found 
herself against an immovable, impassable barrier: the 
whole thing refused to be cast from her thoughts. 
Always before her eyes was the picture of that bare 
little room and the wistful-faced boy. Always in her 
ears was that heartbreaking “ What if it were Jamie? ” 
And always, too, there was Pollyanna; for even 
though Mrs. Carew might (as she did) silence the 
pleadings and questionings of the little girl’s tongue, 
there was no getting away from the prayers and re- * 
proaches of the little girl’s eyes. 

Twice again in desperation Mrs. Carew went to see 
the boy, telling herself each time that only another 
visit was needed to convince her that the boy was not 
the one she sought. But, even though while there in 
117 


118 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


the boy’s presence, she told herself that she was con¬ 
vinced, once away from it, the old, old questioning 
returned. At last, in still greater desperation, 
she wrote to her sister, and told her the whole 
story. 

“ I had not meant to tell you,” she wrote, after she 
had stated the bare facts of the case. “ I thought it 
a pity to harrow you up, or to raise false hopes. I 
am so sure it is not he — and yet, even as I write these 
words, I know I am not sure. That is why I want 
you to come — why you must come. I must have you 
see him. 

“I wonder — oh, I wonder what you’ll say! Of 
course we haven’t seen our Jamie since he was four 
years old. He would be twelve now. This boy is 
twelve, I should judge. (He doesn’t know his age.) 
He has hair and eyes not unlike our Jamie’s. He is 
crippled, but that condition came upon him through a 
fall, six years ago, and was made worse through an¬ 
other one four years later. Anything like a complete 
description of his father’s appearance seems impos¬ 
sible to obtain; but what I have learned contains noth¬ 
ing conclusive either for or against his being poor 
Doris’s husband. He was called ‘ the Professor,’ was 
very queer, and seemed to own nothing save a few 
books. This might, or might not signify. John Kent 
was certainly always queer, and a good deal of a 
Bohemian in his tastes. Whether he cared for books 
or not I don’t remember. Do you? And of course 
the title ‘ Professor 9 might easily have been assumed, 
if he wished, or it might have been merely given him 



A Surprise for Mrs. Carew 


119 


by others. As for this boy — I don’t know, I don’t 
know — but I do hope you will! 

“ Your distracted sister, 

“ Ruth.” 

Della came at once, and she went immediately to 
see the boy; but she did not “ know.” Like her sister, 
she said she did not think it was their Jamie, but at 
the same time there was that chance — it might be he, 
after all. Like Pollyanna, however, she had what 
she thought was a very satisfactory way out of the 
dilemma. 

“ But why don’t you take him, dear?” she pro¬ 
posed to her sister. “ Why don’t you take him and 
adopt him ? It would be lovely for him — poor little 
fellow — and — ” But Mrs. Carew shuddered and 
would not even let her finish. 

“ No, no, I can’t, I can’t! ” she moaned. “ I want 
my Jamie, my own Jamie — or no one.” And with a 
sigh Della gave it up and went back to her nursing. 

If Mrs. Carew thought that this closed the matter, 
however, she was again mistaken; for her days were 
still restless, and her nights were still either sleepless 
or filled with dreams of a “ may be ” or a “ might 
be ” masquerading as an “ it is so.” She was, more¬ 
over, having a difficult time with Pollyanna. 

Pollyanna was puzzled. She was filled with ques¬ 
tionings and unrest. For the first time in her life 
Pollyanna had come face to face with real poverty. 
She knew people who did not have enough to eat, 
who- wore ragged clothing, and who lived in dark, 



no 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


dirty, and very tiny rooms. Her first impulse, of 
course, had been “ to help.’’ With Mrs. Carew she 
made two visits to Jamie, and greatly did she rejoice 
at the changed conditions she found there after “ that 
man Dodge” had “tended to things.” But this, to 
Pollyanna, was a mere drop in the bucket. There 
were yet all those other sick-looking men, unhappy- 
looking women, and ragged children out in the street 

— Jamie’s neighbors. Confidently she looked to Mrs. 
Carew for help for them, also. 

“ Indeed! ” exclaimed Mrs. Carew, when she 
learned what was expected of her, “ so you want the 
whole street to be supplied with fresh paper, paint, 
and new stairways, do you? Pray, is there anything 
else you’d like?” 

“ Oh, yes, lots of things,” sighed Pollyanna, hap¬ 
pily. “ You see, there are so many things they need 

— all of them! And what fun it will be to get them! 
How I wish I was rich so I could help, too; but I’m 
’most as glad to be with you when you get them.” 

Mrs. Carew quite gasped aloud in her amazement. 
She lost no time — though she did lose not a little 
patience — in explaining that she had no intention of 
doing anything further in “ Murphy’s Alley,” and that 
there was no reason why she should. No one would 
expect her to. She had canceled all possible obliga¬ 
tions, and had even been really very generous, any 
one would say, in what she had done for the tenement 
where lived Jamie and the Murphys. (That she 
owned the tenement building she did not think it 
necessary to state.) At some length she explained to 




A Surprise for Mrs. Carew 


121 


Pollyanna that there were charitable institutions, both 
numerous and efficient, whose business it was to aid 
"• all the worthy poor, and that to these institutions she 
gave frequently and liberally. 

Even then, however, Pollyanna was not con¬ 
vinced. 

“ But I don’t see,” she argued, “ why it’s any better, 
or even so nice, for a whole lot of folks to club to¬ 
gether and do what everybody would like to do for 
themselves. I’m sure I’d much rather give Jamie a — 
a nice book, now, than to have some old Society do 
it; and I know he’d like better to have me do it, 
too.” 

“ Very likely,” returned Mrs. Carew, with some 
weariness and a little exasperation. “ But it is just 
possible that it would not be so well for Jamie as — 
as if that book were given by a body of people who 
knew what sort of one to select.” 

This led her to say much, also (none of which Pol¬ 
lyanna in the least understood), about “pauperizing 
the poor,” the “ evils of indiscriminate giving,” and 
the “ pernicious effect of unorganized charity.” 

“ Besides,” she added, in answer to the Still per¬ 
plexed expression on Pollyanna’s worried little face, 
“ very likely if I offered help to these people they 
'would not take it. You remember Mrs. Murphy de¬ 
clined, at the first, to let me send food and clothing — 
though they accepted it readily enough from their 
neighbors on the first floor, it seems.” 

“ Yes, I know,” sighed Pollyanna, turning away. 
“ There’s something there somehow that I don’t un- 




m 


Polly anna Grows Up 


derstand. But it doesn’t seem right that we should 
have such a lot of nice things, and that they shouldn’t 
have anything, hardly.” 

As the days passed, this feeling on the part of Pol- 
lyanna increased rather than diminished; and the 
questions she asked and the comments she made were 
. anything but a relief to the state of mind in which 
Mrs. Carew herself was. Even the test of the glad 
game, in this case, Pollyanna was finding to be very 
near a failure; for, as she expressed it: 

“ I don’t see how you can find anything about this 
poor-people business to be glad for. Of course we 
can be glad for ourselves that we aren’t poor like 
them; but whenever I’m thinking how glad I am for 
that, I get so sorry for them that I can’t be glad any 
longer. Of course we could be glad there were poor 
folks, because we could help them. But if we don’t 
-help them, where’s the glad part of that coming in? ” 
And to this Pollyanna could find no one who could 
give her a satisfactory answer. 

Especially she asked this question of Mrs. Carew; 
and Mrs. Carew, still haunted by the visions of the 
Jamie that was, and the Jamie that might be, grew 
only more restless, more wretched, and more utterly 
despairing. Nor was she helped any by the approach 
of Christmas. Nowhere was there glow of holly or 
flash of tinsel that did not carry its pang to her; for 
always to Mrs. Carew it but symbolized a child’s 
empty stocking — a stocking that might be — Ja¬ 
mie’s. 

Finally, a week before Christmas, she fought what 



A Surprise for Mrs. Carew 123 


she thought was the last battle with herself. Reso¬ 
lutely, but with no real joy in her face, she gave terse 
orders to Mary, and summoned Pollyanna. 

“ Pollyanna,” she began, almost harshly, “ I have . 
decided to — to take Jamie. The car will be here at 
once. Pm going after him now, and bring him home. 
You may come with me if you like.” 

A great light transfigured Pollyanna’s face. 

“ Oh, oh, oh, how glad I am! ” she breathed. 

“ Why, Pm so glad I — I want to cry! Mrs. Carew, 
why is it, when you’re the very gladdest of anything, 
you always want to cry ? ” 

“ I don’t know, I’m sure, Pollyanna,” rejoined Mrs. 
Carew, abstractedly. On Mrs. Carew’s face there 
was still no look of joy. 

Once in the Murphys’ little one-room tenement, it 
did not take Mrs. Carew long to tell her errand. In 
a few short sentences she told the story of the lost 
Jamie, and of her first hopes that this Jamie might be 
he. She made no secret of her doubts that he was 
the one; at the same time, she said she had decided 
to take him home with her and give him every pos¬ 
sible advantage. Then, a little wearily, she told what 
were the plans she had made for him. 

At the foot of the bed Mrs. Murphy listened, cry¬ 
ing softly. Across the room Jerry Murphy, his eyes 
dilating, emitted an occasional low “ Gee! Can ye beat 
that, now ? ” As to Jamie — Jamie, on the bed, had 
listened at first with the air of one to whom suddenly 
a door has opened into a longed-for paradise; but 
gradually, as Mrs. Carew talked, a new look came to 



124 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


his eyes. Very slowly he closed them, and turned 
away his face. 

When Mrs. Carew ceased speaking there was a 
long silence before Jamie turned his head and an¬ 
swered. They saw then that his face was very white, 
and that his eyes were full of tears. 

“ Thank you, Mrs. Carew, but — I can’t go,” he 
said simply. 

“ You can’t — what? ” cried Mrs. Carew, as if she 
doubted the evidence of her own ears. 

“ Jamie t ” gasped Pollyanna. 

“ Oh, come, kid, what’s eatin’ ye?” scowled Jerry, 
hurriedly coming forward. “ Don’t ye know a good 
thing when ye see it? ” 

“Yes; but I can’t — go,” said the crippled boy, 
again. 

“ But, Jamie, Jamie, think, think what it would 
mean to you! ” quavered Mrs. Murphy, at the foot of 
the bed. 

“ I am a-thinkin’,” choked Jamie. “ Don’t you 
suppose I know what I’m doin’ — what I’m givin’ 
up ? ” Then to Mrs. Carew he turned tear-wet eyes. 
“ I can’t,” he faltered. “ I can’t let you do all that 
for me. If you — cared it 'would be different. But 
you don’t care — not really. You don’t want me — 
not me. You want the real Jamie, and I ain’t the real 
Jamie. You don’t think I am. I can see it in your 
face.” 

“ I know. But — but — ” began Mrs. Carew, help¬ 
lessly. 

“ And it isn’t as if — as if I was like other boys, 



A Surprise for Mrs. Carew 


125 


and could walk, either,” interrupted the cripple, fever¬ 
ishly. “ You’d get tired of me in no time. And I’d 
see it cornin’. I couldn’t stand it — to be a burden 
like that. Of course, if you cared — like mumsey 
here — ” He threw out his hand, choked back a sob, 
then turned his head away again. “ I’m not the Jamie 
you want. I — can’t — go,” he said. With the words 
his thin, boyish hand fell clenched till the knuckles 
showed white against the tattered old shawl that cov¬ 
ered the bed. 

There was a moment’s breathless hush, then, very 
quietly, Mrs. Carew got to her feet. Her face was 
colorless; but there was that in it that silenced the sob 
that rose to Pollyanna’s lips. 

“ Come, Pollyanna,” was all she said. 

“Well, if you ain’t the fool limit!” babbled Jerry 
Murphy to the boy on the bed, as the door closed a 
moment later. 

But the boy on the bed was crying very much as if 
the closing door had been the one that had led to 
paradise — and that had closed now forever. 



CHAPTER XII 


FROM BEHIND A COUNTER 

Mrs. Carew was very angry. To have brought 
herself to the point where she was willing to take this 
lame boy into her home, and then to have the lad 
calmly refuse to come, was unbearable. Mrs. Carew 
was not in the habit of having her invitations ignored, 
or her wishes scorned. Furthermore, now that she 
could not have the boy, she was conscious of an al¬ 
most frantic terror lest he were, after all, the real 
Jamie. She knew then that her true reason for want¬ 
ing him had been — not because she cared for him, 
not even because she wished to help him and make 
him happy — but because she hoped, by taking him, 
that she would ease her own mind, and forever silence 
that awful eternal questioning on her part: “ What if 
he were her own Jamie ?” 

It certainly had not helped matters any that the boy 
had divined her state of mind, and had given as the 
* reason for his refusal that she “ did not care.” To be 
sure, Mrs. Carew now very proudly told herself that 
she did not indeed “ care,” that he was not her sister’s 
boy, and that she would “ forget all about it.” 

But she did not forget all about it. However in¬ 
sistently she might disclaim responsibility and rela¬ 
tionship, just as insistently responsibility and relation- 
126 


From Behind a Counter 


127 


ship thrust themselves upon her in the shape of 
panicky doubts; and however resolutely she turned 
her thoughts to other matters, just so resolutely visions 
of a wistful-eyed boy in a poverty-stricken room 
loomed always before her. 

Then, too, there was Pollyanna. Clearly Pollyanna 
was not herself at all. In a most unPollyanna-like 
spirit she moped about the house, finding apparently 
no interest anywhere. 

“ Oh, no, Fm not sick,” she would answer, when 
remonstrated with, and questioned. 

“ But what is the trouble ? ” 

“ Why, nothing. It — it’s only that I was thinking 
of Jamie, you know, — how he hasn’t got all these 
beautiful things — carpets, and pictures, and cur¬ 
tains.” 

It was the same with her food. Pollyanna was ac¬ 
tually losing her appetite; but here again she dis¬ 
claimed sickness. 

“ Oh, no,” she would sigh mournfully. “ It’s just 
that I don’t seem hungry. Some way, just as soon as 
I begin to eat, I think of Jamie, and how he doesn’t 
have only old doughnuts and dry rolls; and then I — 
I don’t want anything.” 

Mrs. Carew, spurred by a feeling that she herself 
only dimly understood, and recklessly determined to 
bring about some change in Pollyanna at all costs, 
ordered a huge tree, two dozen wreaths, and quan¬ 
tities of holly and Christmas baubles. For the first 
time in many years the house was aflame and aglitter 
with scarlet and tinsel. There was even to be a Christ- 



128 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


mas party, for Mrs. Carew had told Pollyanna to in¬ 
vite half a dozen of her schoolgirl friends for the tree 
on Christmas Eve. 

But even here Mrs. Carew met with disappoint¬ 
ment; for, though Pollyanna was always grateful, 
and at times interested and even excited, she still car¬ 
ried frequently a sober little face. And in the end 
the Christmas party was more of a sorrow than a joy; 
for the first glimpse of the glittering tree sent her into 
a storm of sobs. 

“Why, Pollyanna!” ejaculated Mrs. Carew. 
“What in the world is the matter now?” 

“ N-n-nothing,” wept Pollyanna. “ It’s only that 
it’s so perfectly, perfectly beautiful that I just had to 
cry. I was thinking how Jamie would love to see it.” 

It was then that Mrs. Carew’s patience snapped. 

“ ‘ Jamie, Jamie, Jamie ’! ” she exclaimed. “ Pol¬ 
lyanna, can't you stop talking about that boy? You 
know perfectly well that it is not my fault that he is 
not here. I asked him to come here to live. Besides, 
where is that glad game of yours? I think it would 
be an excellent idea if you would play it on this.” 

“ I am playing it,” quavered Pollyanna. “ And 
that’s what I don’t understand. I never knew it to 
act so funny. Why, before, when I’ve been glad about 
things, I’ve been happy. But now, about Jamie — I’m 
so glad I’ve got carpets and pictures and nice things, 
to eat, and that I can walk and run, and go to school, 
and all that; but the harder I’m glad for myself, the 
sorrier I am for him. I never knew the game to act 
so funny, and I don’t know what ails it. Do you? ” 



From Behind a Counter 


129 

But Mrs. Carew, with a despairing gesture, merely 
turned away without a word. 

It was the day after Christmas that something so 
wonderful happened that Pollyanna, for a time, almost 
forgot Jamie. Mrs. Carew had taken her shopping, 
and it was while Mrs. Carew was trying to decide be¬ 
tween a duchesse-lace and a point-lace collar, that Pol¬ 
lyanna chanced to spy farther down the counter a face 
that looked vaguely familiar. For a moment she re¬ 
garded it frowningly; then, with a little cry, she ran 
down the aisle. 

“ Oh, it’s you — it is you! ” she exclaimed joyously 
to a girl who was putting into the show case a tray 
of pink bows. “ I’m so glad to see you! ” 

The girl behind the counter lifted her head and 
stared at Pollyanna in amazement. But almost imme¬ 
diately her dark, somber face lighted with a smile of 
glad recognition. 

“ Well, well, if it isn’t my little Public Garden 
kiddie! ” she ejaculated. 

“ Yes. I’m so glad you remembered,” beamed 
Pollyanna. “ But you never came again. I looked 
for you lots of times.” 

“ I couldn’t. I had to work. That was our last 
half-holiday, and— Fifty cents, madam,” she broke 
off, in answer to a sweet-faced old lady’s question as 
to the price of a black-and-white bow on the counter. 

“Fifty cents? Hm-m!” The old lady fingered 
the bow, hesitated, then laid it down with a sigh. 
“ Hm, yes; well, it’s very pretty, I’m sure, my dear,” 
she said, as she passed on. 



130 


Pollyanna Grows tip 


Immediately behind her came two bright-faced girls 
who, with much giggling and bantering, picked out a 
jeweled creation of scarlet velvet, and a fairy-like 
structure of tulle and pink buds. As the girls turned 
chattering away Pollyanna drew an ecstatic sigh. 

“ Is this what you do all day? My, how glad you 
must be you chose this! ” 

" Glad!" 

“ Yes. It must be such fun — such lots of folks, 
you know, and all different! And you can talk to 
'em. You have to talk to ’em — it’s your business. 
I should love that. I think I’ll do this when I grow 
up. It must be such fun to see what they all 
buy! ” 

“ Fun! Glad! ” bristled the girl behind the counter. 
“ Well, child, I guess if you knew half — That’s a 
dollar, madam,” she interrupted herself hastily, in 
answer to a young woman’s sharp question as to the 
price of a flaring yellow bow of beaded velvet in the 
show case. 

“ Well, I should think ’twas time you told me,” 
snapped the young woman. “ I had to ask you 
twice.” 

The girl behind the counter bit her lip. 

“ I didn’t hear you, madam.” 

“ I can’t help that. It is your business to hear. 
You are paid for it, aren’t you? How much is that 
black one ? ” 

“ Fifty cents.” 

“ And that blue one ? ” 

“ One dollar.” 



From Behind a Counter 


131 


“No impudence, miss! You needn’t be so short 
about it, or I shall report you. Let me see that tray 
of pink ones.” 

The salesgirl’s lips opened, then closed in a thin, 
straight line. Obediently she reached into the show 
case and took out the tray of pink bows; but her eyes 
flashed, and her hands shook visibly as she set the 
tray down on the counter. The young woman whom 
she was serving picked up five bows, asked the price 
of four of them, then turned away with a brief: 

“ I see nothing I care for.” 

“ Well,” said the girl behind the counter, in a sha¬ 
king voice, to the wide-eyed Pollyanna, “ what do you 
think of my business now ? Anything to be glad about 
there ? ” 

Pollyanna giggled a little hysterically. 

“ My, wasn’t she cross ? But she was kind of 
funny, too — don’t you think ? Anyhow, you can 
be glad that — that they aren’t all like her, can’t 
you ? ” 

“ I suppose so,” said the girl, with a faint smile. 
“ But I can tell you right now, kiddie, that glad game 
of yours you was tellin’ me about that day in the 
Garden may be all very well for you; but — ” Once 
more she stopped with a tired: “ Fifty cents, madam,” 
in answer to a question from the other side of the 
counter. 

“ Are you as lonesome as ever ? ” asked Pollyanna 
wistfully, when the salesgirl was at liberty again. 

“ Well, I can’t say I’ve given more’n five parties, 
nor been to more’n seven, since I saw you,” replied 



132 PoUyanna Grows Up 

the girl so bitterly that Pollyanna detected the sar- 
casm. 

“ Oh, but you did something nice Christmas, didn’t 
you? ” 

“ Oh, yes. I stayed in bed all day with my feet done 
up in rags and read four newspapers and one maga¬ 
zine. Then at night I hobbled out to a restaurant 
where I had to blow in thirty-five cents for chicken 
pie instead of a quarter.” 

“But what ailed your feet?” 

“ Blistered. Standin’ on ’em — Christmas rush.” 

“ Oh! ” shuddered Pollyanna, sympathetically. 
“ And you didn’t have any tree, or party, or any¬ 
thing?” she cried, distressed and shocked. 

“Well, hardly!” 

“ O dear! How I wish you could have seen mine 1 ” 
sighed the little girl. “It was just lovely, and — 
But, oh, say!” she exclaimed joyously. “You can 
see it, after all. It isn’t gone yet. Now, can’t you 
come out to-night, or to-morrow night, and — ” 

“ Pollyanna/” interrupted Mrs. Carew in her chilli¬ 
est accents. “What in the world does this mean? 
Where have you been? I have looked everywhere for 
you. I even went ’way back to the suit department.” 

Pollyanna turned with a happy little cry. 

“ Oh, Mrs. Carew, I’m so glad you’ve come,” she 
rejoiced. “ This is — well, I don’t know her name 
yet, but I know her, so it’s all right. I met her in the 
Public Garden ever so long ago. And she’s lonesome, 
and doesn’t know anybody. And her father was a 
minister like mine, only he’s alive. And she didn’t 




“ ‘ I don’t KNOW HER NAME YET, BUT I KNOW HER , SO 

it’s all right/ ” 















































































































From Behind a Counter 133 


have any Christmas tree only blistered feet and chicken 
pie; and I want her to see mine, you know — the tree, 

I mean,” plunged on Pollyanna, breathlessly. “ I’ve 
asked her to come out to-night, or to-morrow night. 
And you’ll let me have it all lighted up again, won’t 
you ? ” 

“ Well, really, Pollyanna,” began Mrs. Carew, in 
cold disapproval. But the girl behind the counter in¬ 
terrupted with a voice quite as cold, and even, more 
disapproving. 

“ Don’t worry, madam. I’ve no notion of goin’.” 

Oh, but please,” begged Pollyanna. “ You don’t 
know how I want you, and — ” 

“ I notice the lady ain’t doin’ any askin’,” inter¬ 
rupted the salesgirl, a little maliciously. 

Mrs. Carew flushed an angry red, and turned as if 
to go; but Pollyanna caught her arm and held it, 
talking meanwhile almost frenziedly to the girl be¬ 
hind the counter, who happened, at the moment, to 
be free from customers. 

“ Oh, but she will, she will,” Pollyanna was saying. 

“ She wants you to come — I know she does. Why, 
you don’t know how good she is, and how much money 
she gives to — to charitable ’sociations and every¬ 
thing.” 

“ Poll yanna! ” remonstrated Mrs. Carew, sharply. 
Once more she would have gone, but this time she was 
held spellbound by the ringing scorn in the low, tense 
voice of the salesgirl. 

“ Oh, yes, I know! There’s lots of ’em that’ll give , 
to rescue work. There’s always plenty of helpin’ 



134 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


hands stretched out to them that has gone wrong. 
And that’s all right. I ain’t findin’ no fault with that. 
Only sometimes I wonder there don’t some of ’em 
think of helpin’ the girls before they go wrong. Why 
don’t they give good girls pretty homes with books and 
pictures and soft carpets and music, and somebody 
’round ’em to care? Maybe then there wouldn’t be 
so many — Good heavens, what am I sayin’ ? ” she 
broke off, under her breath. Then, with the old 
weariness, she turned to a young woman who had 
stopped before her and picked up a blue bow. 

“ That’s fifty cents, madam,” Mrs. Carew heard, 
as she hurried Pollyanna away. 



CHAPTER XIII 


A WAITING AND A WINNING 

It was a delightful plan. Polly anna had it entirely 
formulated in about five minutes; then she told Mrs. 
Carew. Mrs. Carew did not think it was a delightful 
plan, and she said so very distinctly. 

“ Oh, but I’m sure they'll think it is,” argued Polly- 
anna, in reply to Mrs. Carew’s objections. “ And just 
think how easy we can do it! The tree is just as it 
was — except for the presents, and we can get more 
of those. It won’t be so very long till just New Year’s 
Eve; and only think how glad she’ll be to come! 
Wouldn’t you be, if you hadn’t had anything for 
Christmas only blistered feet and chicken pie?” 

“ Dear, dear, what an impossible child you are! ” 
frowned Mrs. Carew. “ Even yet it doesn’t seem to 
occur to you that we don’t know this young person’s 
name.” 

“ So we don’t! And isn’t it funny, when I feel that 
I know her so well?” smiled Pollyanna. “ You see, 
we had such a good talk in the Garden that day, and 
she told me all about how lonesome she was, and that 
she thought the lonesomest place in the world was in 
a crowd in a big city, because folks didn’t think nor 
notice. Oh, there was one that noticed; but he no¬ 
ticed too much, she said, and he hadn’t ought to notice 
135 


136 


Polly anna Grows Up 

her any — which is kind of funny, isn’t it, when you 
come to think of it. But anyhow, he came for her 
there in the Garden to go somewhere with him, and 
she wouldn’t go, and he was a real handsome gentle¬ 
man, too — until he began to look so cross, just at 
the last. Folks aren’t so pretty when they’re cross, 
are they? Now there was a lady to-day looking at 
bows, and she said — well, lots of things that weren’t 
nice, you know. And she didn’t look pretty, either, 
after — after she began to talk. But you will let 
me have the tree New Year’s Eve, won’t you, Mrs. 
Carew? — and invite this girl who sells bows, and 
Jamie? He’s better, you know, now, and he could 
come. Of course Jerry would have to wheel him — 
but then, we’d want Jerry, anyway.” 

“Oh, of course, Jerry!” exclaimed Mrs. Carew in 
ironic scorn. “But why stop with Jerry? I’m sure 
Jerry has hosts of friends who would love to come. 
And — ” 

“ Oh, Mrs. Carew, may I ? ” broke in Pollyanna, in 
uncontrollable delight. “ Oh, how good, good, good 
you are! I’ve so wanted — ” But Mrs. Carew fairly 
gasped aloud in surprise and dismay. 

“ No, no, Pollyanna, I — ” she began, protestingly. 
But Pollyanna, entirely mistaking the meaning of her 
interruption, plunged in again in stout champion¬ 
ship. 

“ Indeed you are good — just the bestest ever; and 
I sha’n’t let you say you aren’t. Now I reckon I’ll 
have a party all right 1 There’s Tommy Dolan and his 
sister Jennie, and the two Macdonald children, and 



137 


A Waiting and a Winning 

three girls whose names I don’t know that live under 
the Murphys, and a whole lot more, if we have room 
for em. And only think how glad they’ll be when I 
tell ’em! Why, Mrs. Carew, seems to me as if I 
never knew anything so perfectly lovely in all my 
life — and it’s all your doings! Now mayn’t I begin 
right away to invite ’em — so they’ll know what’s 
coming to ’em ? ” 

And Mrs. Carew, who would not have believed such 
a thing possible, heard herself murmuring a faint 
“ yes,” which, she knew, bound her to the giving of * 
a Christmas-tree party on New Year’s Eve to a dozen 
children from Murphy’s Alley and a young salesgirl 
whose name she did not know. 

Perhaps in Mrs. Carew’s memory was still linger¬ 
ing a young girl’s “ Sometimes I wonder there don’t 
some of ’em think of helpin’ the girls before they go 
wrong.” Perhaps in her ears was still ringing Polly- 
anna’s story of that same girl who had found a crowd 
in a big city the loneliest place in the world, yet who 
had refused to go with the handsome man that had 
“ noticed too much.” Perhaps in Mrs. Carew’s heart 
was the undefined hope that somewhere in it all lay 
the peace she had so longed for. Perhaps it was a 
little of all three combined with utter helplessness in 
the face of Pollyanna’s amazing twisting of her irri¬ 
tated sarcasm into the wide-sweeping hospitality of a 
willing hostess. Whatever it was, the thing was 
done; and at once Mrs. Carew found herself caught 
into a veritable whirl of plans and plottings, the center 
of which was always Pollyanna and the party. 



138 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


To her sister, Mrs. Carew wrote distractedly of the 
whole affair, closing with : 

“ What I’m going to do I don’t know; but I sup¬ 
pose I shall have to keep right on doing as I am do¬ 
ing. There is no other way. Of course, if Pollyanna 
once begins to preach — but she hasn’t yet; so I can’t, 
with a clear conscience, send her back to you.” 

Della, reading this letter at the Sanatorium, laughed 
aloud at the conclusion. 

“ ‘ Hasn’t preached yet,’ indeed! ” she chuckled to 
herself. “ Bless her dear heart! And yet you, Ruth 
Carew, own up to giving two Christmas-tree parties 
within a week, and, as I happen to know, your home, 
which used to be shrouded in death-like gloom, is 
aflame with scarlet and green from top to toe. But 
she hasn’t preached yet — oh, no, she hasn’t preached 
yet!” 

The party was a great success. Even Mrs. Carew 
admitted that. Jamie, in his wheel chair, Jerry with 
his startling, but expressive vocabulary, and the girl 
(whose name proved to be Sadie Dean), vied with 
each other in amusing the more diffident guests. 
Sadie Dean, much to the others’ surprise — and per¬ 
haps to her own — disclosed an intimate knowledge 
of the most fascinating games; and these games, with 
Jamie’s stories and Jerry’s good-natured banter, kept 
every one in gales of laughter until supper and the 
generous distribution of presents from the laden tree 
sent the happy guests home with tired sighs of con¬ 
tent. 

If Jamie (who with Jerry was the last to leave) 



A Waiting and a Winning 


139 


looked about him a bit wistfully, no one apparently 
noticed it. Yet Mrs. Carew, when she bade him good¬ 
night, said low in his ear, half impatiently, half em- 
barrassedly: 

“ Well, Jamie, have you changed your mind — 
about coming ?” 

The boy hesitated. A faint color stole into his 
cheeks. He turned and looked into her eyes wistfully, 
searchingly. Then very slowly he shook his head. 

“ If it could always be — like to-night, I — could,” 
he sighed. “ But it wouldn’t. There’d be to-morrow, 
and next week, and next month, and next year cornin’; 
and I’d know before next week that I hadn’t oughter 
come.” 

If Mrs. Carew had thought that the New Year’s 
Eve party was to end the matter of Pollyanna’s efforts 
in behalf of Sadie Dean, she was soon undeceived; 
for the very next morning Polly anna began to talk of 
her. 

“ And I’m so glad I found her again,” she prattled 
contentedly. “ Even if I haven’t been able to find the 
real Jamie for you, I’ve found somebody else for you 
to love — and of course you’ll love to love her, ’cause 
it’s just another way of loving Jamie.” 

Mrs. Carew drew in her breath and gave a little 
gasp of exasperation. This unfailing faith in her 
goodness of heart, and unhesitating belief in her de¬ 
sire to “ help everybody ” was most disconcerting, and 
sometimes most annoying. At the same time it was a 
most difficult thing to disclaim — under the circum- 



140 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


stances, especially with Pollyanna’s happy, confident 
eyes full on her face. 

“ But, Pollyanna,” she objected impotently, at last, 
feeling very much as if she were struggling against 
invisible silken cords, “I — you — this girl really 
isn’t Jamie, at all, you know.” 

“ I know she isn’t,” sympathized Pollyanna quickly. 
“ And of course Pm just as sorry she isn't Jamie as 
can be. But she’s somebody’s Jamie — that is, I mean 
she hasn’t got anybody down here to love her and — 
and notice, you know; and so whenever you remem¬ 
ber Jamie I should think you couldn’t be glad enough 
there was somebody you could help, just as you’d want 
-folks to help Jamie, wherever he is.” 

Mrs. Carew shivered and gave a little moan. 

“ But I want my Jamie,” she grieved. 

Pollyanna nodded with understanding eyes. 

“ I know — the ‘ child’s presence.’ Mr. Pendleton 
told me about it — only you’ve got the ‘ woman’s 
hand.’ ” 

“‘Woman’s hand’?” 

“ Yes — to make a home, you know. He said that 
it took a woman’s hand or a child’s presence to make 
a home. That was when he wanted me, and I found 
him Jimmy, and he adopted him instead.” 

“Jimmy? ” Mrs. Carew looked up with the startled 
something in her eyes that always came into them at 
the mention of any variant of that name. 

“Yes; Jimmy Bean.” 

“Oh — Bean” said Mrs. Carew, relaxing. 

“ Yes. He was from an Orphan’s Home, and he 



A Waiting and a Winning 


141 


ran away. I found him. He said he wanted another 
kind of a home with a mother in it instead of a Ma¬ 
tron. I couldn’t find him the mother-part, but I found 
him Mr. Pendleton, and he adopted him. His name 
is Jimmy Pendleton now.” 

“ But it was — Bean ? ” 

“ Yes, it was Bean.” 

“ Oh 1 ” said Mrs. Carew, this time with a long sigh. 

Mrs. Carew saw a good deal of Sadie Dean during 
the days that followed the New Year’s Eve party. 
She saw a good deal of Jamie, too. In one way and 
another Pollyanna contrived to have them frequently 
at the house; and this, Mrs. Carew, much to her sur¬ 
prise and vexation, could not seem to prevent. Her 
consent and even her delight were taken by Polly¬ 
anna as so much a matter of course that she found 
herself helpless to convince the child that neither ap¬ 
proval nor satisfaction entered into the matter at all, 
as far as she was concerned. 

But Mrs. Carew, whether she herself realized it or 
not, was learning many things — things she never 
could have learned in the old days, shut up in her 
rooms, with orders to Mary to admit no one. She 
was learning something of what it means to be a lonely 
young girl in a big city, with one’s living to earn, and 
with no one to care — except one who cares too much, 
and too little. 

“ But what did you mean ? ” she nervously asked 
Sadie Dean one evening; “what did you mean that 
first day in the store — what you said — about helping 
the girls ? ” 



142 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


Sadie Dean colored distressfully. 

“ I’m afraid I was rude,” she apologized. 

“ Never mind that. Tell me what you meant. I’ve 
thought of it so many times since.” 

For a moment the girl was silent; then, a little bit¬ 
terly she said: 

“ ’Twas because I knew a girl once, and I was 
thinkin’ of her. She came from my town, and she 
was pretty and good, but she wa’n’t over strong. For 
a year we pulled together, sharin’ the same room, 
boiling our eggs over the same gas-jet, and eatin’ our 
hash and fish balls for supper at the same cheap res¬ 
taurant. There was never anything to do evenin’s but 
to walk in the Common, or go to the movies, if we 
had the dime to blow in, or just stay in our room. 
Well, our room wasn’t very pleasant. It was hot in 
summer, and cold in winter, and the gas-jet was so 
measly and so flickery that we couldn’t sew or read, 
even if we hadn’t been too fagged out to do either — 
which we ’most generally was. Besides, over our 
heads was a squeaky board that some one was always 
rockin’ on, and under us was a feller that was learnin’ 
to play the cornet. Did you ever hear any one learn 
to play the cornet ? ” 

“ N-no, I don’t think so,” murmured Mrs. Carew. 

“ Well, you’ve missed a lot,” said the girl, dryly. 
Then, after a moment, she resumed her story. 

“ Sometimes, ’specially at Christmas and holidays, 
we used to walk up here on the Avenue, and other 
streets, huntin’ for windows where the curtains were 
up, and we could look in. You see, we were pretty 



143 


A Waiting and a Winning 

lonesome, them days ’specially, and we said it did us 
good to see homes with folks, and lamps on the center- 
tables, and children playin’ games; but we both of us 
knew that really it only made us feel worse than ever, 
because we were so hopelessly out of it all. ’T'was 
even harder to see the automobiles, and the gay young 
folks in them, laughing and chatting. You see, we 
were young, and I suspect we wanted to laugh and 
chatter. We wanted a good time, too; and, by. and 
by — my chum began to have it — this good time. 

“Well, to make a long story short, we broke part¬ 
nership one day, and she went her way, and I mine. 
I didn’t like the company she was keepin’, and I said 
so. She wouldn’t give ’em up, so we quit. I didn’t 
see her again for ’most two years, then I got a note 
from her, and I went. This was just last month. 
She was in one of them rescue homes. It was a lovely 
place; soft rugs, fine pictures, plants, flowers, and 
books, a piano, a beautiful room, and everything pos¬ 
sible done for her. Rich women came in their auto¬ 
mobiles and carriages to take her driving, and she was 
taken to concerts and matinees. She was learnin’ 
stenography, and they were going to help her to a 
position just as soon as she could take it. Everybody 
was wonderfully good to her, she said, and showed 
they wanted to help her in every way. But she said 
something else, too. She said: 

“ ‘ Sadie, if they’d taken one half the pains to show 
me they cared and wanted to help long ago when I 
was an honest, self-respectin’, hard-workin’ homesick 
girl — I wouldn’t have been here for them to help 



144 


Polly anna Grows Up 


now.’ And — well, I never forgot it. That’s all. It 
ain’t that I’m objectin’ to the rescue work — it’s 
a fine thing, and they ought to do it. Only I’m 
thinkin’ there wouldn’t be quite so much of it for 
them to do — if they’d just show a little of their in¬ 
terest earlier in the game.” 

“ But I thought — there were working-girls’ homes, 
and — and settlement-houses that — that did that 
sort of thing,” faltered Mrs. Carew in a voice that few 
of her friends would have recognized. 

“ There are. Did you ever see the inside of one of 
them? ” 

“ Why, n-no; though I — I have given money to 
them.” This time Mrs. Carew’s voice was almost 
apologetically pleading in tone. 

Sadie Dean smiled curiously. 

“ Yes, I know. There are lots of good women that 
have given money to them — and have never seen the 
inside of one of them. Please don’t understand that 
I’m sayin’ anythin’ against the homes. I’m not. 
They’re good things. They’re almost the only thing 
that’s doing anything to help; but they’re only a drop 
in the bucket to what is really needed. I tried one 
once; but there was an air about it—somehow I felt— 
But there, what’s the use? Probably they aren’t all 
like that one, and maybe the fault was with me. If I 
should try to tell you, you wouldn’t understand. 
You’d have to live in it — and you haven’t even seen 
the inside of one. But I can’t help wonderin’ some¬ 
times why so many of those good women never seem 
to put the real heart and interest into the preventin’ 



145 


A Waiting and a Winning 

that they do into the rescuin’. But there! I didn’t 
mean to talk such a lot. But — you asked me.” 

“ Yes, I asked you,” said Mrs. Carew in a half- 
stifled voice, as she turned away. 

Not only from Sadie Dean, however, was Mrs. 
Carew learning things never learned before, but from 
Jamie, also. 

Jamie was there a great deal. Pollyanna liked to 
have him there, and he liked to be there. At first, to 
be sure, he had hesitated; but very soon he had quieted 
his doubts and yielded to his longings by telling him¬ 
self (and Pollyanna) that, after all, visiting was not 
“ staying for keeps.” 

Mrs. Carew often found the boy and Pollyanna con¬ 
tentedly settled on the library window-seat, with the 
empty wheel chair close by. Sometimes they were 
poring over a book. (She heard Jamie tell Pollyanna 
one day that he didn’t think he’d mind so very much 
being lame if he had so many books as Mrs. Carew, 
and that he guessed he’d be so happy he’d fly clean 
away if he had both books and legs.) Sometimes the 
boy was telling stories, and Pollyanna was listening, 
wide-eyed and absorbed. 

Mrs. Carew wondered at Pollyanna’s interest — 
until one day she herself stopped and listened. After 
that she wondered no longer — but she listened a good 
deal longer. Crude and incorrect as was much of the 
boy’s language, it was always wonderfully vivid and 
picturesque, so that Mrs. Carew found herself, hand 
in hand with Pollyanna, trailing down the Golden Ages 
at the beck of a glowing-eyed boy. 





146 


Polly anna Grows Up 


Dimly Mrs. Carew was beginning to realize, too, 
something of what it must mean, to be in spirit and 
ambition the center of brave deeds and wonderful ad¬ 
ventures, while in reality one was only a crippled boy 
in a wheel chair. But what Mrs. Carew did not realize 
was the part this crippled boy was beginning to play 
in her own life. She did not realize how much a mat¬ 
ter of course his presence was becoming, nor how 
interested she now was in finding something new “ for 
Jamie to see.” Neither did she realize how day by 
day he was coming to seem to her more and more the 
lost Jamie, her dead sister’s child. 

As February, March, and April passed, however, 
and May came, bringing with it the near approach of 
the date set for Pollyanna’s home-going, Mrs. Carew 
did suddenly awake to the knowledge of what that 
home-going was to mean to her. 

She was amazed and appalled. Up to now she had, 
in belief, looked forward with pleasure to the de¬ 
parture of Pollyanna. She had said that then once 
again the house would be quiet, with the glaring sun 
shut out. Once again she would be at peace, and able 
to hide herself away from the annoying, tiresome 
world. Once again she would be free to summon to 
her aching consciousness all those dear memories of 
the lost little lad who had so long ago stepped into that 
vast unknown and closed the door behind him. All 
this she had believed would be the case when Polly¬ 
anna should go home. 

But now that Pollyanna was really going home, the 
picture was far different. The “ quiet house with the 



A Waiting and a Winning 


147 


sun shut out ” had become one that promised to be 
“ gloomy and unbearable.” The longed-for “ peace ” 
would be “ wretched loneliness ”; and as for her being 
able to “ hide herself away from the annoying, tire¬ 
some world,” and “ free to summon to her aching 
consciousness all those dear memories of that lost 
little lad” — just as if anything could blot out those 
other aching memories of the new Jamie (who yet 
might be the old Jamie) with his pitiful, pleading 
eyes! 

Full well now Mrs. Carew knew that without Pol- 
lyanna the house would be empty; but that without 
the lad, Jamie, it would be worse than that. To her 
pride this knowledge was not pleasing. To her heart 
it was torture — since the boy had twice said that he 
would not come. For a time, during those last few 
days of Pollyanna’s stay, the struggle was a bitter 
one, though pride always kept the ascendancy. Then, 
on what Mrs. Carew knew would be Jamie’s last visit, 
her heart triumphed, and once more she asked Jamie 
to come and be to her the Jamie that was lost. 

What she said she never could remember after¬ 
wards; but what the boy said, she never forgot. 
After all, it was compassed in six short words. 

For what seemed a long, long minute his eyes had 
searched her face; then to his own had come a trans¬ 
figuring light, as he breathed: 

“ Oh, yes! Why, you — care, now! ” 



CHAPTER XIV 


JIMMY AND THE GREEN - EYED MONSTER 

This time Beldingsville did not literally welcome 
Pollyanna home with brass bands and bunting — 
perhaps because the hour of her expected arrival 
was known to but few of the townspeople. But 
there certainly was no lack of joyful greetings on the 
part of everybody from the moment she stepped from 
the railway train with her Aunt Polly and Dr. Chilton. 
Nor did Pollyanna lose any time in starting on a 
round of fly-away minute calls on all her old friends. 
Indeed, for the next few days, according to Nancy, 
“ There wasn’t no putting of your finger on her any¬ 
wheres, for by the time you’d got your finger down 
she wa’n’t there.” 

And always, everywhere she went, Pollyanna met 
the question: “ Well, how did you like Boston?” 
Perhaps to no one did she answer this more fully 
than she did to Mr. Pendleton. As was usually the 
case when this question was put to her, she began her 
reply with a troubled frown. 

“ Oh, I liked it — I just loved it — some of it.” 

“ But not all of it?” smiled Mr. Pendleton. 

“ No. There’s parts of it — Oh, I was glad to be 
there,” she explained hastily, “ I had a perfectly 
148 


Jimmy and the Green-Eyed Monster 149 


lovely time, and lots of things were so queer and dif¬ 
ferent, you know — like eating dinner at night in¬ 
stead of noons, when you ought to eat it. But every¬ 
body was so good to me, and I saw such a lot of won¬ 
derful things — Bunker Hill, and the Public Garden, 
and the Seeing Boston autos, and miles of pictures 
and statues and store-windows and streets that didn't 
have any end. And folks. I never saw such a lot of 
folks.” 

“ Well, I’m sure — I thought you liked folks,” 
commented the man. 

“ I do.” Pollyanna frowned again and pondered. 
“ But what’s the use of such a lot of them if you don’t 
know ’em? And Mrs. Carew wouldn’t let me. She 
didn’t know ’em herself. She said folks didn’t, down 
there.” 

There was a slight pause, then, with a sigh, Polly¬ 
anna resumed. 

“ I reckon maybe that’s the part I don’t like the 
most — that folks don’t know each other. It would 
be such a lot nicer if they did! Why, just think, Mr. 
Pendleton, there are lots of folks that live on dirty, 
narrow streets, and don’t even have beans and fish 
balls to eat, nor things even as good as missionary 
barrels to wear. Then there are other folks — Mrs. 
Carew, and a whole lot like her — that live in per¬ 
fectly beautiful houses, and have more things to eat 
and wear than they know what to do with. Now if 
those folks only knew the other folks — ” But Mr. 
Pendleton interrupted with a laugh. 

“ My dear child, did it ever occur to you that these 



150 Pollyanna Grows Up 

people don’t care to know each other? ” he asked quiz- 
zically. 

“ Oh, but some of them do,” maintained Pollyanaia, 
in eager defense. “ Now there’s Sadie Dean — she 
sells bows, lovely bows in a big store — she wants to 
know people; and I introduced her to Mrs. Carew, 
and we had her up to the house, and we had Jamie 
and lots of others there, too; and she was so glad to 
know them! And that’s what made me think that if 
only a lot of Mrs. Carew’s kind could know the other 
kind — but of course / couldn’t do the introducing. 
I didn't know many of them myself, anyway. But if 
they could know each other, so that the rich people 
could give the poor people part of their money— ” 

But again Mr. Pendleton interrupted with a laugh. 

“ Oh, Pollyanna, Pollyanna,” he chuckled; “I’m 
afraid you’re getting into pretty deep water. You’ll 
be a rabid little socialist before you know it.” 

“A — what ? ” questioned the little girl, dubiously. 
“I — I don’t think I know what a socialist is. But I 
know what being sociable is — and I like folks that 
are that. If it’s anything like that, I don’t mind being 
one, a mite. I’d like to be one.” 

“ I don’t doubt it, Pollyanna,” smiled the man. 
“ But when it comes to this scheme of yours for the 
wholesale distribution of wealth — you’ve got a prob¬ 
lem on your hands that you might have difficulty 
with.” 

Pollyanna drew a long sigh. 

“ I know,” she nodded. “ That’s the way Mrs. 
Carew talked. She says I don’t understand; that 




Jimmy and the Green-Eyed Monster 151 


’twould — er — pauperize her and be indiscriminate 
and pernicious, and— Well, it was something like 
that, anyway/’ bridled the little girl, aggrievedly, as 
the man began to laugh. “ And, anyway, I don't un¬ 
derstand why some folks should have such a lot, and 
other folks shouldn’t have anything; and I don't like 
it. And if I ever have a lot I shall just give some of 
it to folks who don’t have any, even if it does make 
me pauperized and pernicious, and — ” But Mr. 
Pendleton was laughing so hard now that Pollyanna, 
after a moment’s struggle, surrendered and laughed 
with him. 

“ Well, anyway,” she reiterated, when she had 
caught her breath, “ I don’t understand it, all the 
same.” 

“ No, dear, Pm afraid you don’t,” agreed the man, 
growing suddenly very grave and tender-eyed; “ nor 
any of the rest of us, for that matter. But, tell me,” 
he added, after a minute, “ who is this Jamie you’ve 
been talking so much about since you came? ” 

And Pollyanna told him. 

In talking of Jamie, Pollyanna lost her worried, 
baffled look. Pollyanna loved to talk of Jamie. Here 
was something she understood. Here was no problem 
that had to deal with big, fearsome-sounding words. 
Besides, in this particular instance — would not Mr. 
Pendleton be especially interested in Mrs. Carew’s 
taking the boy into her home;, for who better than him¬ 
self could understand the need of a child’s presence? 

For that matter, Pollyanna talked to everybody 
about Jamie. She assumed that everybody would be 



152 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


as interested as she herself was. On most occasions 
she was not disappointed in the interest shown; but 
one day she met with a surprise. It came through 
Jimmy Pendleton. 

" Say, look a-here,” he demanded one afternoon, 
irritably. “ Wasn’t there anybody else down to Bos¬ 
ton but just that everlasting 'Jamie’?” 

"Why, Jimmy Bean, what do you mean?” cried 
* Pollyanna. 

The boy lifted his chin a little. 

" I’m not Jimmy Bean. I’m Jimmy Pendleton. 
And I mean that I should think, from your talk, that 
there wasn’t anybody down to Boston but just that 
loony boy who calls them birds and squirrels ‘ Lady 
Lancelot,’ and all that tommyrot.” 

"Why, Jimmy Be— Pendleton!” gasped Polly¬ 
anna. Then, with some spirit: "Jamie isn’t loony! 
He is a very nice boy. And he knows a lot — books 
and stories! Why, he can make stories right out of 
his own head! Besides, it isn’t ' Lady Lancelot,’ — 
it’s ' Sir Lancelot.’ If you knew half as much as he 
does you’d know that, too! ” she finished, with flash¬ 
ing eyes. 

Jimmy Pendleton flushed miserably and looked 
utterly wretched. Growing more and more jealous 
moment by moment, still doggedly he held his ground. 

" Well, anyhow,” he scoffed, " I don’t think much 
of his name. 'Jamie’! Humph! — sounds sissy! 
And I know somebody else that said so, too.” 

"Who was it?” 

There was no answer. 




Jimmy and the Green-Eyed Monster 153 


“Who was it?” demanded Pollyanna, more per¬ 
emptorily. 

“ Dad.” The boy’s voice was sullen. 

“Your — dad?” repeated Pollyanna, in amaze¬ 
ment. “ Why, how could he know Jamie? ” 

“ He didn’t. ’Twasn’t about that Jamie. ’Twas 
about me.” The boy still spoke sullenly, with his eyes 
turned away. Yet there was a curious softness in his 
voice that was always noticeable whenever he spoke of 
his father. ' 

" You!” 

“ Yes. ’Twas just a little while before he died. 
We stopped ’most a week with a farmer. Dad helped 
about the hayin’ — and I did, too, some. The 
farmer’s wife was awful good to me, and pretty quick 
she was callin’, me ‘ Jamie.’ I don’t know why, but 
she just did. And one day father heard her. He got 
awful mad — so mad that I remembered it always — 
what he said. He said ‘ Jamie ’ wasn’t no sort of a 
name for a boy, and that no son of his should ever be 
called it. He said ’twas a sissy name, and he hated 
it. ’Seems so I never saw him so mad as he was that 
night. He wouldn’t even stay to finish the work, 
but him and me took to the road again that night. I 
was kind of sorry, ’cause I liked her — the farmer’s 
wife, I mean. She was good to me.” 

Pollyanna nodded, all sympathy and interest. It 
was not often that Jimmy said much of that mysteri¬ 
ous past life of his, before she had known him. 

“ And what happened next? ” she prompted. Pol¬ 
lyanna had, for the moment, forgotten all about the 



154 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


original subject of the controversy — the name 
“ Jamie ” that was dubbed “ sissy.” 

The boy sighed. 

“ We just went on till we found another place. 
And ’twas there dad — died. Then they put me in' the 
’sylum.” 

“ And then you ran away and I found you that day, 
down by Mrs. Snow’s,” exulted Pollyanna, softly. 
“ And I’ve known you ever since.” 

“ Oh, yes — and you’ve known me ever since,” 
repeated Jimmy — but in a far different voice: Jimmy 
had suddenly come back to the present, and to his 
grievance. “ But, then, I ain’t ' Jamie / you know,” 
he finished with scornful emphasis, as he turned loftily 
away, leaving a distressed, bewildered Pollyanna be¬ 
hind him. 

“ Well, anyway, I can be glad he doesn’t always 
act like this,” sighed the little girl, as she mournfully 
watched the sturdy, boyish figure with its disagreeable, 
amazing swagger. 



CHAPTER XV 


AUNT POLLY TAKES ALARM 

Pollyanna had been at home about a week when 
the letter from Della Wetherby came to Mrs. Chilton. 

“ I wish I could make you see what your little 
niece has done for my sister/’ wrote Miss Wetherby; 
“ but I’m afraid I can’t. You would have to know 
what she was before. You did see her, to be sure, 
and perhaps you saw something of the hush and 
gloom in which she has shrouded herself for so many 
years. But you can have no conception of her bitter¬ 
ness of heart, her lack of aim and interest, her insist¬ 
ence upon eternal mourning. 

“ Then came P^lyanna. Probably I didn’t tell you, 
but my sister regretted her promise to take the child, 
almost the minute it was given; and she made the 
stern stipulation that the moment Pollyanna began to 
preach, back she should come to me. Well, she hasn’t 
preached — at least, my sister says she hasn’t; and 
my sister ought to know. And yet — well, just let me 
tell you what I found when I went to see her yesterday. 
Perhaps nothing else could give you a better idea of 
what that wonderful little Pollyanna of yours has ac¬ 
complished. 

“ To begin with, as I approached the house, I saw 
that nearly all the shades were up: they used to be 
155 


156 


Pcllyanna Grows Up 

down — ’way down to the sill. The minute I stepped 
into the hall I heard music — Parsifal. The drawing¬ 
rooms were open, and the air was sweet with roses. 

“ ‘ Mrs. Carew and Master Jamie are in the music- 
room,’ said the maid. And there I found them — my 
sister, and the youth she has taken into her home, 
listening to one of those modern contrivances that can 
hold an entire opera company, including the orchestra. 

“ The boy was in a wheel chair. He was pale, but 
plainly beatifically happy. My sister looked ten years 
younger. Her usually colorless cheeks showed a faint 
pink, and her eyes glowed and sparkled. A little later, 
after I had talked a few minutes with the boy, my 
sister and I went up-stairs to her own rooms; and 
there she talked to me — of Jamie. Not of the old 
Jamie, as she used to, with tear-wet eyes and hopeless 
sighs, but of the new Jamie — and there were no 
sighs nor tears now. There was, instead, the eager¬ 
ness of enthusiastic interest. 

“ ‘ Della, he’s wonderful,’ she began. 4 Everything 
that is best in music, art, and literature seems to ap¬ 
peal to him in a perfectly marvelous fashion, only, of 
course, he needs development and training. That’s 
what I’m going to see that he gets. A tutor is com¬ 
ing to-morrow. Of course his language is something 
awful; at the same time, he has read so many good 
books that his vocabulary is quite amazing — and you 
should hear the stories he can reel off! Of course in 
general education he is very deficient; but he’s eager 
to learn, so that will soon be remedied. He loves 
music, and I shall give him what training in that he 




Aunt Polly Takes Alarm 157 


wishes. I have already put in a stock of carefully 
selected records. I wish you could have seen his face 
when he first heard that Holy Grail music. He knows 
all about King Arthur and his Round Table, and he 
prattles of knights and lords and ladies as you and I 
do of the members of our own family — only some¬ 
times I don’t know whether his Sir Lancelot means 
the ancient knight or a squirrel in the Public Garden.. 
And, Della, I believe he can be made to walk. I’m 
going to have Dr. Ames see him, anyway, and — ’ 

“ And so on and on she talked, while I sat amazed 
and tongue-tied, but, oh, so happy! I tell you all this, 
dear Mrs. Chilton, so you can see for yourself how 
interested she is, how eagerly she is going to watch 
this boy’s growth and development, and how, in spite 
of herself, it is all going to change her attitude toward 
life. She can't do what she is doing for this boy, 
Jamie, and not do for herself at the same time. Never 
again, I believe, will she be the soured, morose woman 
she was before. And it’s all because of Pollyanna. 

“ Pollyanna! Dear child — and the best part of it 
is, she is so unconscious of the whole thing. I don’t 
believe even my sister yet quite realizes what is taking 
place within her own heart and life, and certainly 
Pollyanna doesn’t — least of all does she realize the 
part she played in the change. 

“ And now, dear Mrs. Chilton, how can I thank 
you? I know I can’t; so Pm not even going to try. 
Yet in your heart I believe you know how grateful 
I am to both you and Pollyanna. 

“ Della Wetherby.” 



158 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


“ Well, it seems to have worked a cure, all right/’ 
smiled Dr. Chilton, when his wife had finished read¬ 
ing the letter to him. 

To his surprise she lifted a quick, remonstrative 
hand. 

“ Thomas, don’t, please! ” she begged. 

“ Why, Polly, what’s the matter? Aren’t you glad 
that — that the medicine worked ? ” 

Mrs. Chilton dropped despairingly back in her chair. 

“ There you go again, Thomas,” she sighed. “ Of 
course I’m glad that this misguided woman has for¬ 
saken the error of her ways and found that she can 
be of use to some one. And of course I’m glad that 
Pollyanna did it. But I am not glad to have that 
child continually spoken of as if she were a — a bottle 
of medicine, or a ‘ cure.’ Don’t you see? ” 

“ Nonsense! After all, where’s the harm? I’ve 
called Pollyanna a tonic ever since I knew her.” 

“ Harm! Thomas Chilton, that child is growing 
older every day. Do you want to spoil her? Thus 
far she has been utterly unconscious of her extraor¬ 
dinary power. And therein lies the secret of her suc¬ 
cess. The minute she consciously sets herself to re¬ 
form somebody, you know as well as I do that she 
will be simply impossible. Consequently, Heaven for¬ 
bid that she ever gets it into her head that she’s any¬ 
thing like a cure-all for poor, sick, suffering human- 
ity.” 

“ Nonsense! I wouldn’t worry,” laughed the doc¬ 
tor. 

“ But I do worry, Thomas,” 



Aunt Polly Takes Alarm 


159 


“ But, Polly, think of what she’s done,” argued the 
doctor. “ Think of Mrs. Snow and John Pendleton, 
and quantities of others — why, they’re not the same 
people at all that they used to be, any more than Mrs. 
Carew is. And Pollyanna did do it — bless her , 
heart! ” 

“ I know she did,” nodded Mrs. Polly Chilton, em¬ 
phatically. “ But I don’t want Pollyanna to know she 
did it! Oh, of course she knows it, in a way. She 
knows she taught them to play the glad game with 
her, and that they are lots happier in consequence. 
And that’s all right. It’s a game — her game, and 
they’re playing it together. To you I will admit that 
Pollyanna has preached to us one of the most power- . 
ful sermons I ever heard; but the minute she knows 
it — well, I don’t want her to. That’s all. And 
right now let me tell you that I’ve decided that I will 
go to Germany with you this fall. At first I thought 
I wouldn’t. I didn’t want to leave Pollyanna — and 
I’m not going to leave her now. I’m going to take 
her with me.” 

“ Take her with us? Good! Why not?” 

“ I’ve got to. That’s all. Furthermore, I should 
be glad to plan to stay a few years, just as you said 
you’d like to. I want to get Pollyanna away, quite 
away from Beldingsville for a while. I’d like to keep 
her sweet and unspoiled, if I can. And she shall not 
get silly notions into her head if I can help myself. 
Why, Thomas Chilton, do we want that child made an 
insufferable little prig? ” 

“ We certainly don’t,” laughed the doctor. “ But, 




160 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


for that matter, I don’t believe anything or anybody 
could make her so. However, this Germany idea suits 
me to a T. You know I didn’t want to come away 
when I did — if it hadn’t been for Pollyanna. So 
the sooner we get back there the better I’m satisfied. 
And I’d like to stay — for a little practice, as well as 
study.” 

“ Then that’s settled.” And Aunt Polly gave a sat¬ 
isfied sigh. 



CHAPTER XVI 


WHEN POLLYANNA WAS EXPECTED 

All Beldingsville was fairly aquiver with excite¬ 
ment. Not since Pollyanna Whittier came home from 
the Sanatorium, walking, had there been such a chatter 
of talk over back-yard fences and on every street cor¬ 
ner. To-day, too, the center of interest was Polly¬ 
anna. Once again Pollyanna was coming home — but 
so different a Pollyanna, and so different a home¬ 
coming ! 

Pollyanna was twenty now. For six years she had 
spent her winters in Germany, her summers leisurely 
traveling with Dr. Chilton and his wife. Only once 
during that time had she been in Beldingsville, and 
then it was for but a short four weeks the summer 
she was sixteen. Now she was coming home — to 
stay, report said; she and her Aunt Polly. 

The doctor would not be with them. Six months be¬ 
fore, the town had been shocked and saddened by the 
news that the doctor had died suddenly. Beldings¬ 
ville had expected then that Mrs. Chilton and Polly¬ 
anna would return at once to the old home. But they 
had not come. Instead had come word that the 
widow and her niece would remain abroad for a time. 
The report said that, in entirely new surroundings, 
Mrs. Chilton was trying to seek distraction and relief 
from her great sorrow. 


161 




162 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


Very soon, however, vague rumors, and rumors not 
so vague, began to float through the town that, finan¬ 
cially, all was not well with Mrs. Polly Chilton. Cer¬ 
tain railroad stocks, in which it was known that the 
Harrington estate had been heavily interested, wa¬ 
vered uncertainly, then tumbled into ruin and disaster. 
Other investments, according to report, were in a 
most precarious condition. From the doctor’s estate, 
little could be expected. He had not been a rich man, 
and his expenses had been heavy for the past six 
years. Beldingsville was not surprised, therefore, 
when, not quite six months after the doctor’s death, 
word came that Mrs. Chilton and Pollyanna were 
coming home. 

Once more the old Harrington homestead, so long 
closed and silent, showed up-flung windows and wide- 
open doors. Once more Nancy — now Mrs. Timothy 
Durgin — swept and scrubbed and dusted until the 
old place shone in spotless order. 

“No, I hain’t had no instructions ter do it; I 
hain’t, I hain’t,” Nancy explained to curious friends 
and neighbors who halted at the gate, or came more 
boldly up to the doorways. “ Mother Durgin’s had 
the key, ’course, and has come in regerler to air up 
and see that things was all right; and Mis’ Chilton 
just wrote and said she and Miss Pollyanna was 
cornin’ this week Friday, and ter please see that the 
rooms and sheets was aired, and ter leave the key 
under the side-door mat on that day. 

“ Under the mat, indeed! Just as if I’d leave them 
two poor things ter come into this house alone, and 



When Pollyanna Was Expected 163 


all forlorn like that — and me only a mile away, 
a-sittin’ in my own parlor like as if I was a fine lady 
an’ hadn’t no heart at all, at all! Just as if the poor 
things hadn’t enough ter stand without that —* 
a-comin’ into this house an’ the doctor gone — bless 
his kind heart! — an’ never cornin’ back. An’ no 
money, too. Did ye hear about that? An’ ain’t it a 
shame, a shame! Think of Miss Polly — I mean, 
Mis’ Chilton — bein’ poor! My stars and stockings, 
I can’t sense it — I can’t, I can’t! ” 

Perhaps to no one did Nancy speak so interestedly 
as she did to a tall, good-looking young fellow with 
peculiarly frank eyes and a particularly winning smile, 
who cantered up to the side door on a mettlesome 
thoroughbred at ten o’clock that Thursday morning. 
At the same time, to no one did she talk with so much 
evident embarrassment, so far as the manner of ad¬ 
dress was concerned; for her tongue stumbled and 
blundered out a “ Master Jimmy — er — Mr. Bean — 
I mean, Mr. Pendleton, Master Jimmy! ” with a nerv¬ 
ous precipitation that sent the young man himself into 
a merry peal of laughter. 

“ Never mind, Nancy! Let it go at whatever comes 
handiest,” he chuckled. “ I’ve found out what I 
wanted to know: Mrs. Chilton and her niece really 
are expected to-morrow.” 

“ Yes, sir, they be, sir,” courtesied Nancy, “ — 
more’s the pity! Not but that I shall be glad enough 
ter see ’em, you understand, but it’s the way they’re 
a-comin’.” 

“ Yes, I know. I understand,” nodded the youth, 







164 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


gravely, his eyes sweeping the fine old house before 
him. “ Well, I suppose that part can’t be helped. 
But I’m glad you’re doing — just what you are do¬ 
ing. That will help a whole lot,” he finished with a 
bright smile, as he wheeled about and rode rapidly 
down the driveway. 

Back on the steps Nancy wagged her head wisely. 

“ I ain’t surprised, Master Jimmy,” she declared 
aloud, her admiring eyes following the handsome fig¬ 
ures of horse and man. “ I ain’t surprised that you 
ain’t lettin’ no grass grow under your feet ’bout in¬ 
quirin’ for Miss Pollyanna. I said long ago ’twould 
come sometime, an’ it’s bound to — what with your 
growin’ so handsome and tall. An’ I hope ’twill; I 
do, I do. It’ll be just like a book, what with her 
a-findin’ you an’ gettin’ you into that grand home with 
Mr. Pendleton. My, but who’d ever take you now 
for that little Jimmy Bean that used to be! I never 
did see such a change in anybody — I didn’t, I 
didn’t! ” she answered, with one last look at the 
rapidly disappearing figures far down the road. 

Something of the same thought must have been in 
the mind of John Pendleton some time later that same 
morning, for, from the veranda of his big gray house 
on Pendleton Hill, John Pendleton was watching the 
rapid approach of that same horse and rider; and in 
his eyes was an expression very like the one that had 
been in Mrs. Nancy Durgin’s. On his lips, too, was 
an admiring “Jove! what a handsome pair!” as the 
two dashed by on the way to the stable. 

Five minutes later the youth came around the cor- 



When Pollyanna Was Expected 165 


ner of the house and slowly ascended the veranda 
steps. 

‘‘Well, my boy, is it true? Are they coming? ” 
asked the man, with visible eagerness. 

“ Yes.” 

“When?” 

“ To-morrow.” The young fellow dropped himself 
into a chair. 

At the crisp terseness of the answer, John Pendleton 
frowned. He threw a quick look into the young man’s 
face. For a moment he hesitated; then, a little 
abruptly, he asked: 

“ Why, son, what’s the matter? ” 

“Matter? Nothing, sir.” 

“ Nonsense! I know better. You left here an hour 
ago so eager to be off that wild horses could not have 
held you. Now you sit humped up in that chair and 
look as if wild horses couldn’t drag you out of it. If 
I didn’t know better I’d think you weren’t glad that 
our friends are coming.” 

He paused, evidently for a reply. But he did not 
get it. 

“ Why, Jim, aren't you glad they’re coming? ” 

The young fellow laughed and stirred restlessly. 

“ Why, yes, of course.” 

“ Humph ! You act like it.” 

The youth laughed again. A boyish red flamed into 
his face. 

“ Well, it’s only that I was thinking — of Polly¬ 
anna.” 

“ Pollyanna! Why, man alive, you’ve done noth- 







166 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


ing but prattle of Pollyanna ever since you came home 
from Boston and found she was expected. I thought 
you were dying to see Pollyanna.” 

The other leaned forward with curious intentness. 

“That’s exactly it! See? You said it a minute 
ago. It’s just as if yesterday wild horses couldn’t 
keep me from seeing Pollyanna; and now, to-day, 
when I know she’s coming — they couldn’t drag me 
to see her.” 

“ Why, Jim!” 

At the shocked incredulity on John Pendleton’s 
face, the younger man fell back in his chair with an 
embarrassed laugh. 

“ Yes, I know. It sounds nutty, and I don’t expect 
I can make you understand. But, somehow, I don’t 
think — I ever wanted Pollyanna to grow up. She 
was such a dear, just as she was. I like to think of 
her as I saw her last, her earnest, freckled little face, 
her yellow pigtails, her tearful: 4 Oh, yes, I’m glad I’m 
going; but I think I shall be a little gladder when I 
come back.’ That’s the last time I saw her. You 
know we were in Egypt that time she was here four 
years ago.” 

“ I know. I see exactly what you mean, too. I 
think I felt the same way — till I saw her last winter 
in Rome.” 

The other turned eagerly. 

“ Sure enough, you have seen her! Tell me about 
her.” 

A shrewd twinkle came into John Pendleton’s 
eyes. 



When Pollyanna Was Expected 167 


“ Oh, but I thought you didn’t want to know Polly¬ 
anna — grown up.” 

With a grimace the young fellow tossed this aside. 

“ Is she pretty ? ” 

“ Oh, ye young men! ” shrugged John Pendleton, 
in mock despair. “ Always the first question — ‘ Is 
she pretty ? M ” 

“ Well, is she? ” insisted the youth. 

“I’ll let you judge for yourself. If you— On 
second thoughts, though, I believe I won’t. You 
might be too disappointed. Pollyanna isn’t pretty, so 
far as regular features, curls, and dimples go. In 
fact, to my certain knowledge the great cross in Pol- 
lyanna’s life thus far is that she is so sure she isn’t 
pretty. Long ago she told me that black curls were 
one of the things she was going to have when she got 
to Heaven; and last year in Rome she said something 
else. It wasn’t much, perhaps, so far as words went, 
but I detected the longing beneath. She said she did 
wish that sometime some one would write a novel 
with a heroine who had straight hair and a freckle 
on her nose; but that she supposed she ought to be 
glad girls in books didn’t have to have them.” 

“ That sounds like the old Pollyanna.” 

“ Oh, you’ll still find her — Pollyanna,” smiled the 
man, quizzically. “ Besides, / think she’s pretty. Her 
eyes are lovely. She is the picture of health. She 
carries herself with all the joyous springiness of 
youth, and her whole face lights up so wonderfully 
when she talks that you quite forget whether her 
features are regular or not.” 








168 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


“ Does she still — play the game? ” 

John Pendleton smiled fondly. 

“ I imagine she plays it, but she doesn’t say much 
about it now, I fancy. Anyhow, she didn’t to me, 
the two or three times I saw her.” 

There was a short silence; then, a little slowly, 
young Pendleton said: 

“ I think that was one of the things that was worry¬ 
ing me. That game has been so much to so many 
people. It has meant so much everywhere, all through 
the town! I couldn’t bear to think of her giving it 
up and not playing it. At the same time I couldn’t 
fancy a grown-up Pollyanna perpetually admonishing 
people to be glad for something. Someway, I — well, 
as I said, I — I just didn’t want Pollyanna to grow 
up, anyhow.” 

“ Well, I wouldn’t worry,” shrugged the elder man, 
with a peculiar smile. “ Always, with Pollyanna, 
you know, it was the ‘ clearing-up shower,’ both lit¬ 
erally and figuratively; and I think you’ll find she 
lives up to the same principle now — though perhaps 
not quite in the same way. Poor child, I fear she’ll 
need some kind of game to make existence endurable, 
for a while, at least.” 

“ Do you mean because Mrs. Chilton has lost her 
money? Are they so very poor, then?” 

“ I suspect they are. In fact, they are in rather 
bad shape, so far as money matters go, as I happen 
to know. Mrs. Chilton’s own fortune has shrunk un¬ 
believably, and poor Tom’s estate is very small, and 
hopelessly full of bad debts —- professional services 



When Pollyanna Was Expected 169 

never paid for, and that never will be paid for. Tom 
could never say no when his help was needed, and all 
the dead beats in town knew it and imposed on him 
accordingly. Expenses have been heavy with him 
lately. Besides, he expected great things when he 
should have completed this special work in Germany. 
Naturally he supposed his wife and Pollyanna were 
more than amply provided for through the Harring¬ 
ton estate; so he had no worry in that direction.” 

“ Hm-m; I see, I see. Too bad, too bad! ” 

“ But that isn’t all. It was about two months after 
Tom’s death that I saw Mrs. Chilton and Pollyanna 
in Rome, and Mrs. Chilton then was in a terrible 
state. In addition to her sorrow, she had just begun 
to get an inkling of the trouble with her finances, and 
she was nearly frantic. She refused to come home. 
She declared she never wanted to see Beldingsville, 
or anybody in it, again. You see, she has always been 
a peculiarly proud woman, and it was all affecting her 
in a rather curious way. Pollyanna said that her 
aunt seemed possessed with the idea that Beldingsville 
had not approved of her marrying Dr. Chilton in the 
first place, at her age; and now that he was dead, 
she felt that they were utterly out of sympathy in 
any grief that she might show. She resented keenly, 
too, the fact that they must now know that she was 
poor as well as widowed. In short, she had worked 
herself into an utterly morbid, wretched state, as un¬ 
reasonable as it was terrible. Poor little Pollyanna! 
It was a marvel to me how she stood it. All is, if 
Mrs. Chilton kept it up, and continues to keep it up, 




170 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


that child will be a wreck. That’s why I said Polly¬ 
anna would need some kind of a game if ever any¬ 
body did.” 

“The pity of it! — to think of that happening to 
Pollyanna! ” exclaimed the young man, in a voice 
that was not quite steady. 

“Yes; and you can see all is not right by the way 
they are coming to-day — so quietly, with not a word 
to anybody. That was Polly Chilton’s doings, I’ll 
warrant. She didn’t want to be met by anybody. I 
understand she wrote to no one but her Old Tom’s 
wife, Mrs. Durgin, who had the keys.” 

“Yes, so Nancy told me — good old soul! She’d 
got the whole house open, and had contrived somehow 
to make it look as if it wasn’t a tomb of dead hopes 
and lost pleasures. Of course the grounds looked 
fairly well, for Old Tom has kept them up, after a 
fashion. But it made my heart ache — the whole 
thing.” 

There was a long silence, then, curtly, John Pendle¬ 
ton suggested: 

“ They ought to be met.” 

“ They will be met.” 

“ Are you going to the station? ” 

“ I am.” 

“ Then you know what train they’re coming on.” 

“ Oh, no. Neither does Nancy.” 

“Then how will you manage?” 

“ I’m going to begin in the morning and go to every 
train till they come,” laughed the young man, a bit 
grimly. “ Timothy’s going, too, with the family car- 




When Pollyanna Was Expected 171 


riage. After all, there aren’t many trains, anyway, 
that they can come on, you know.” 

“ Hm-m, I know,” said John Pendleton. “ Jim, 
I admire your nerve, but not your judgment. I’m 
glad you’re going to follow your nerve and not your 
judgment, however — and I wish you good luck.” 

“ Thank you, sir,” smiled the young man dolefully. 
“ I need ’em — your good wishes — all right, all 
right, as Nancy says.” 






CHAPTER XVII 


WHEN POLLYANNA CAME 

As the train neared Beldingsville, Pollyanna watched 
her aunt anxiously. All day Mrs. Chilton had been 
growing more and more restless, more and more 
gloomy; and Pollyanna was fearful of the time when 
the familiar home station should be reached. 

As Pollyanna looked at her aunt, her heart ached. 
She was thinking that she would not have believed it 
possible that any one could have changed and aged 
so greatly in six short months. Mrs. Chilton’s eyes 
were lusterless, her cheeks pallid and shrunken, and 
her forehead crossed and recrossed by fretful lines. t 
Her mouth drooped at the corners, and her hair was 
combed tightly back in the unbecoming fashion that 
had been hers when Pollyanna first had seen her, years 
before. All the softness and sweetness that seemed to 
have come to her with her marriage had dropped 
from her like a cloak, leaving uppermost the old hard¬ 
ness and sourness that had been hers when she was 
Miss Polly Harrington, unloved, and unloving. 

“ Pollyanna! ” Mrs. Chilton’s voice was incisive. 

Pollyanna started guiltily. She had an uncomfort¬ 
able feeling that her aunt might have read her 
thoughts. 

“ Yes, auntie.” 


172 




When Pollyanna Came 


173 


“ Where is that black bag — the little one?” 

“ Right here.” 

“ Well, I wish you’d get out my black veil. We’re 
nearly there.” 

“ But it’s so hot and thick, auntie! ” 

“ Pollyanna, I asked for that black veil. If you’d 
please learn to do what I ask without arguing about 
it, it would be a great deal easier for me. I want that 
veil. Do you suppose I’m going to give all Beldings- 
ville a chance to see how I ‘ take it ’ ? ” 

“ Oh, auntie, they’d never be there in that spirit,” 
protested Pollyanna, hurriedly rummaging in the 
black bag for the much-wanted veil. “ Besides, there 
won’t be anybody there, anyway, to meet us. We 
didn’t tell any one we were coming, you know.” 

“ Yes, I know. We didn’t tell any one to meet us. 
But we instructed Mrs. Durgin to have the rooms 
aired and the key under the mat for to-day. Do you 
suppose Mary Durgin has kept that information to 
herself? Not much! Half the town knows we’re 
coming to-day, and a dozen or more will ‘ happen 
around ’ the station about train time. I know them! 
They want to see what Polly Harrington poor looks 
like. They — ” 

“ Oh, auntie, auntie,” begged Pollyanna, with tears 
in her eyes. 

“ If I wasn’t so alone. If—'the doctor were only 
here, and — ” She stopped speaking and turned 
away her head. Her mouth worked convulsively. 
“ Where is — that veil ? ” she choked huskily. 

“ Yes, dear. Here it is — right here,” comforted 





174 


Poilyanna Grows Up 


Pollyanna, whose only aim now, plainly, was to get 
the veil into her aunt’s hands with all haste. “ And 
here we are now almost there. Oh, auntie, I do wish 
you’d had Old Tom or Timothy meet us! ” 

“ And ride home in state, as if we could afford to 
keep such horses and carriages? And when we know 
we shall have to sell them to-morrow? No, I thank 
you, Pollyanna. I prefer to use the public carriage, 
under those circumstances.” 

“ I know, but — ” The train came to a jolting, 
jarring stop, and only a fluttering sigh finished Polly- 
anna’s sentence. 

As the two women stepped to the platform, Mrs. 
Chilton, in her black veil, looked neither to the right 
nor the left. Pollyanna, however, was nodding and 
smiling tearfully in half a dozen directions before she 
had taken twice as many steps. Then, suddenly, she 
found herself looking into a familiar, yet strangely 
unfamiliar face. 

“ Why, it isn’t — it is — Jimmy! ” she beamed, 
reaching forth a cordial hand. “ That is, I suppose 
I should say ' Mr. Pendleton / ” she corrected herself 
with a shy smile that said plainly: “ Now that you’ve 
grown so tall and fine! ” 

“ I’d like to see you try it,” challenged the youth, 
with a very Jimmy-like tilt to his chin. He turned 
then to speak to Mrs. Chilton; but that lady, with her 
head half averted, was hurrying on a little in advance. 

He turned back to Pollyanna, his eyes troubled and 
sympathetic. 

“If you’d please come this way — both of you,” 




____ When ^ollyanna Came 175 

he urged hurriedly. “ Timothy is here with the car¬ 
riage.” 

“ Oh, how good of him,” cried Pollyanna, but with 
an anxious glance at the somber veiled figure ahead. 
Timidly she touched her aunt’s arm. “ Auntie, dear, 
Timothy’s here. He’s come with the carriage. He’s 
over this side. And — this is Jimmy Bean, auntie. 
You remember Jimmy Bean!” 

In her nervousness and embarrassment Pollyanna 
did not notice that she had given the young man the 
old name of his boyhood. Mrs. Chilton, however, 
evidently did notice it. With palpable reluctance she 
turned and inclined her head ever so slightly. 

“ Mr. — Pendleton is very kind, I am sure; but — 
I am sorry that he or Timothy took quite so much 
trouble,” she said frigidly. 

“ No trouble — no trouble at all, I assure you,” 
laughed the young man, trying to hide his embarrass¬ 
ment. “ Now if you’ll just let me have your checks, 

| so I can see to your baggage.” 

“ Thank you,” began Mrs. Chilton, “ but I am very 
| sure we can — ” 

But Pollyanna, with a relieved little “ thank you! ” 
had already passed over the checks; and dignity de¬ 
manded that Mrs. Chilton say no more. 

The drive home was a silent one. Timothy, vaguely 
hurt at the reception he had met with at the hands of 
his former mistress, sat up in front stiff and straight, 
with tense lips. Mrs. Chilton, after a weary “ Well, 
well, child, just as you please; I suppose we shall 
have to ride home in it now! ” had subsided into stern 






176 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


gloom. Pollyanna, however, was neither stern, nor 
tense, nor gloomy. With eager, though tearful eyes 
she greeted each loved landmark as they came to it. 
Only once did she speak, and that was to say: 

“Isn’t Jimmy fine? How he has improved! And 
hasn’t he the nicest eyes and smile? ” 

She waited hopefully, but as there was no reply to 
this, she contented herself with a cheerful: “Well, I 
think he has, anyhow.” 

Timothy had been both too aggrieved and too afraid 
to tell Mrs. Chilton what to expect at home; so the 
wide-flung doors and flower-adorned rooms with 
Nancy courtesying on the porch were a complete sur¬ 
prise to Mrs. Chilton and Pollyanna. 

“ Why, Nancy, how perfectly lovely! ” cried Polly¬ 
anna, springing lightly to the ground. “ Auntie, 
here’s Nancy to welcome us. And only see how 
charming she’s made everything look! ” 

Pollyanna’s voice was determinedly cheerful, 
though it shook audibly. This home-coming without 
the dear doctor whom she had loved so well was not 
easy for her; and if hard for her, she knew some¬ 
thing of what it must be for her aunt. She knew, 
too, that the one thing her aunt was dreading was a 
breakdown before Nancy, than which nothing could 
be worse in her eyes. Behind the heavy black veil the 
eyes were brimming and the lips were trembling, Pol¬ 
lyanna knew. She knew, too, that to hide these facts 
her aunt would probably seize the first opportunity 
for faultfinding, and make her anger a.cloak to hide 
the fact that her heart was breaking. Pollyanna was 



When Pollyanna Came 


177 


not surprised, therefore, to hear her aunt’s few cold 
words of greeting to Nancy followed by a sharp: “ Of 
course all this was very kind, Nancy; but, really, I 
would have much preferred that you had not done 
it.” 

All the joy fled from Nancy’s face. She looked 
hurt and frightened. 

“ Oh, but Miss Polly — I mean, Mis’ Chilton,” she 
entreated; “ it seemed as if I couldn’t let you — ” 

“ There, there, never mind, Nancy,” interrupted 
Mrs. Chilton. “I — I don’t want to talk about it.” 
And, with her head proudly high, she swept out of 
the room. A minute later they heard the door of her 
bedroom shut up-stairs. 

Nancy turned in dismay. 

“Oh, Miss Pollyanna, what is it? What have I 
done? I thought she’d like it. I meant it all right! ” 

“Of course you did,” wept Pollyanna, fumbling in 
her bag for her handkerchief. “ And ’twas lovely to 
have you do it, too, — just lovely.” 

“ But she didn’t like it.” 

“ Yes, she did. But she didn’t want to show she 
liked it. She was afraid if she did she’d show — 
other things, and — Oh, Nancy, Nancy, I’m so glad 
just to c-cry!” And Pollyanna was sobbing on 
Nancy’s shoulder. 

“ There, there, dear; so she shall, so she shall,” 
soothed Nancy, patting the heaving shoulders with 
one hand, and trying, with the other, to make the 
corner of her apron serve as a handkerchief to wipe 
her own tears away. 






178 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


“ You see, I mustn’t — cry — before — her” fal¬ 
tered Pollyanna; “ and it was hard — coming here — 
the first time, you know, and all. And I knew how 
she was feeling.” 

“ Of course, of course, poor lamb,” crooned Nancy. 
“ And to think the first thing / should have done was 
somethin’ ter vex her, and — ” 

“ Oh, but she wasn’t vexed at that,” corrected Pol¬ 
lyanna, agitatedly. “ It’s just her way, Nancy. You 
see, she doesn’t like to show how badly she feels about 
— about the doctor. And she’s so afraid she will 
show it that she — she just takes anything for an ex¬ 
cuse to — to talk about. She does it to me, too, just 
the same. So I know all about it. See ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, I see, I do, I do.” Nancy’s lips snapped 
together a little severely, and her sympathetic pats, 
for the minute, were even more loving, if possible. 
“ Poor lamb! I’m glad I come, anyhow, for your 
sake.” 

“ Yes, so am I,” breathed Pollyanna, gently draw¬ 
ing herself away and wiping her eyes. “ There, I 
feel better. And I do thank you ever so much, Nancy, 
and I appreciate it. Now don’t let us keep you when 
it’s time for you to go.” 

“Ho! I’m thinkin’ I’ll stay for a spell,” sniffed 
Nancy. 

“Stay! Why, Nancy, I thought you were mar¬ 
ried. Aren’t you Timothy’s wife? ” 

“ Sure! But he won’t mind — for you. He’d 
want me to stay — for you.” 

“ Oh, but, Nancy, we couldn’t let you,” demurred 




When Pollyanna Came 


179 


Pollyanna. “ We can’t have anybody — now, yon 
know. I’m going to do the work. Until we know 
just how things are, we shall live very economically, 
Aunt Polly says.” 

“ Ho! as if I’d take money from — ” began Nancy, 
in bridling wrath; but at the expression on the other’s 
face she stopped, and let her words dwindle off 
in a mumbling protest, as she hurried from the 
room to look after her creamed chicken on the 
stove. 

Not until supper was over, and everything put in 
order, did Mrs. Timothy Durgin consent to drive away 
with her husband; then she went with evident reluc¬ 
tance, and with many pleadings to be allowed to come 
“ just ter help out a bit ” at any time. 

After Nancy had gone, Pollyanna came into the 
living-room where Mrs. Chilton was sitting alone, her 
hand over her eyes. 

“Well, dearie, shall I light up?” suggested Polly¬ 
anna, brightly. 

“ Oh, I suppose so.” 

“ Wasn’t Nancy a dear to fix us all up so nice? ” 

No answer. 

“ Where in the world she found all these flowers 
I can’t imagine. She has them in every room down 
here, and in both bedrooms, too.” 

Still no answer. 

Pollyanna gave a half-stifled sigh and threw a wist¬ 
ful glance into her aunt’s averted face. After a mo¬ 
ment she began again hopefully. 

“ I saw Old Tom in the garden. Poor man, his 








180 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


rheumatism is worse than ever. He was bent nearly 
double. He inquired very particularly for you, 
and — ” 

Mrs. Chilton turned with a sharp interruption. 

“ Pollyanna, what are we going to do ? ” 

“ Do? Why, the best we can, of course, dearie.” 

Mrs. Chilton gave an impatient gesture. 

“ Come, come, Pollyanna, do be serious for once. 
You’ll find it is serious, fast enough. What are we 
going to do? As you know, my income has almost 
entirely stopped. Of course, some of the things are 
worth something, I suppose; but Mr. Hart says very 
few of them will pay anything at present. We have 
something in the bank, and a little coming in, of 
course. And we have this house. But of what 
earthly use is the house? We can’t eat it, or wear it. 
It’s too big for us, the way we shall have to live; and 
we couldn’t sell it for half what it’s really worth, un¬ 
less we happened to find just the person that wanted 
it.” 

“ Sell it! Oh, auntie, you wouldn’t — this beauti¬ 
ful house full of lovely things! ” 

“ I may have to, Pollyanna. We have to eat — 
unfortunately.” 

“ I know it; and I’m always so hungry,” mourned 
Pollyanna, with a rueful laugh. “ Still, I suppose I 
ought to be glad my appetite is so good.” 

“Very likely. You’d find something to be glad 
about, of course. But what shall we do, child? I do 
wish you’d be serious for a minute.” 

A quick change came to Pollyanna’s face. 








When Pollyanna Came 


181 


“ I am serious, Aunt Polly. I’ve been thinking. 

I — I wish I could earn some money.” 

“ Oh, child, child, to think of my ever living to hear 
you say that! ” moaned the woman; “— a daughter 
of the Harringtons having to earn her bread! ” 

“ Oh, but that isn’t the way to look at'it,” laughed 
Pollyanna. “ You ought to be glad if a daughter of 
the Harringtons is smart enough to earn her bread! * 
That isn’t any disgrace, Aunt Polly.” 

“ Perhaps not; but it isn’t very pleasant to one’s 
pride, after the position we’ve always occupied in 
Beldingsville, Pollyanna.” 

Pollyanna did not seem to have heard. Her eyes 
were musingly fixed on space. 

“If only I had some talent! If only I could do 
something better than anybody else in the world,” 
she sighed at last. “ I can sing a little, play a little, 
embroider a little, and darn a little; but I can’t do 
any of them well — not well enough to be paid for it. 

“ I think I’d like best to cook,” she resumed, after 
a minute’s silence, “ and keep house. You know I 
loved that in Germany winters, when Gretchen used 
to bother us so much by not coming when we wanted 
her. But I don’t exactly want to go into other people’s 
kitchens to do it.” 

“As if I’d let you! Pollyanna!” shuddered Mrs. 
Chilton again. 

“ And of course, to just work in our own kitchen 
here doesn’t bring in anything,” bemoaned Pollyanna, 

“ — not any money, I mean. And it’s money we 
need.” 







182 Pollyanna Grows Up 


“ It most emphatically is,” sighed Aunt Polly. 

There was a long silence, broken at last by Polly¬ 
anna. 

“ To think that after all you’ve done for me, auntie 
— to think that now, if I only could, I’d have such a 
splendid chance to help! And yet — I can’t do it. 
Oh, why wasn’t I born with something that’s worth 
money ? ” 

“ There, there, child, don’t, don’t! Of course, if the 
doctor — ” The words choked into silence. 

Pollyanna looked up quickly, and sprang to her feet. 

“ Dear, dear, this will never do! ” she exclaimed, 
with a complete change of manner. “ Don’t you fret, 
auntie. What’ll you wager that I don’t develop the 
most marvelous talent going, one of these days? Be¬ 
sides, I think it’s real exciting — all this. There’s so 
much uncertainty in it. There’s a lot of fun in want¬ 
ing things — and then watching for them to come. 
Just living along and knowing you’re going to have 
everything you want is so — so humdrum, you know,” 
she finished, with a gay little laugh. 

Mrs. Chilton, however, did not laugh. She only 
sighed and said: 

“ Dear me, Pollyanna, what a child you are! ” 



CHAPTER XVIII 


r A MATTER OF ADJUSTMENT 

The first few days at Beldingsville were not easy 
either for Mrs. Chilton or for Pollyanna. They were 
days of adjustment; and days of adjustment are sel¬ 
dom easy. 

From travel and excitement it was not easy to put 
one’s mind to the consideration of the price of butter 
and the delinquencies of the butcher. From having 
all one’s time for one’s own, it was not easy to find 
always the next task clamoring to be done. Friends 
and neighbors called, too, and although Pollyanna 
welcomed them with glad cordiality, Mrs. Chilton, 
when possible, excused herself; and always she said 
bitterly to Pollyanna: 

“ Curiosity, I suppose, to see how Polly Harring¬ 
ton likes being poor.” 

Of the doctor Mrs. Chilton seldom spoke, yet Pol¬ 
lyanna knew very well that almost never was he ab¬ 
sent from her thoughts; and that more than half her 
taciturnity was but her usual cloak for a deeper emo¬ 
tion which she did not care to show. 

Jimmy Pendleton Pollyanna saw several times dur¬ 
ing that first month. He came first with John Pen¬ 
dleton for a somewhat stiff and ceremonious call — 
not that it was either stiff or ceremonious until 
183 





184 Pollyanna Grows Up 


after Aunt Polly came into the room; then it was 
both. For some reason Aunt Polly had not excused 
herself on this occasion. After that Jimmy had come 
by himself, once with flowers, once with a book for 
Aunt Polly, twice with no excuse at all. Pollyanna 
welcomed him with frank pleasure always. Aunt 
Polly, after that first time, did not see him at all. 

To the most of their friends and acquaintances Pol¬ 
lyanna said little about the change in their circum¬ 
stances. To Jimmy, however, she talked freely, and 
always her constant cry was: “If only I could do 
something to bring in some money! ” * 

“ Pm getting to be the most mercenary little crea¬ 
ture you ever saw,” she laughed dolefully. “ I’ve got 
so I measure everything with a dollar bill, and I actu¬ 
ally think in quarters and dimes. You see, Aunt Polly 
does feel so poor! ” 

“ It’s a shame! ” stormed Jimmy. 

“ I know it. But, honestly, I think she feels a little 
poorer than she needs to — she’s brooded over it so. 
But I do wish I could help! ” 

Jimmy looked down at the wistful, eager face with 
its luminous eyes, and his own eyes softened. 

“ What do you want to do — if you could do it? ” 
he asked. 

“ Oh, I want to cook and keep house,” smiled Pol¬ 
lyanna, with a pensive sigh. “ I just love to beat eggs 
and sugar, and hear the soda gurgle its little tune in 
the cup of sour milk. I’m happy if I’ve got a day’s 
baking before me. But there isn’t any money in that 
— except in somebody else’s kitchen, of course. 



A Matter of Adjustment 


185 


And I — I don’t exactly love it well enough for 
that! ” 

“ I should say not!” ejaculated the young fellow. 

Once more he glanced down at the expressive face 
so near him. This time a queer look came to the 
corners of his mouth. He pursed his lips, then spoke, 
a slow red mounting to his forehead. 

“Well, of course you might — marry. Have you 
thought of that — Miss Pollyanna?” 

Pollyanna gave a merry laugh. Voice and manner 
were unmistakably those of a girl quite untouched by 
even the most far-reaching of Cupid’s darts. 

“ Oh, no, I shall never marry,” she said blithely. 
“ In the first place Pm not pretty, you know; and in 
the second place, Pm going to live with Aunt Polly 
and take care of her.” 

“Not pretty, eh?” smiled Pendleton, quizzically. 
“ Did it ever — er — occur to you that there might 
be a difference of opinion on that, Pollyanna?” 

Pollyanna shook her head. 

“ There couldn’t be. I’ve got a mirror, you see,” 
she objected, with a merry glance. 

It sounded like coquetry. In any other girl it would 
have been coquetry, Pendleton decided. But, looking 
into the face before him now, Pendleton knew that it 
was not coquetry. He knew, too, suddenly, why Pol¬ 
lyanna had seemed so different from any girl he had 
ever known. Something of her old literal way of 
looking at things still clung to her. 

“Why aren’t you pretty?” he asked. 

Even as he uttered the question, and sure as he was 




186 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


of his estimate of Pollyanna’s character, Pendleton 
quite held his breath at his temerity. He could not 
help thinking of how quickly any other girl he knew 
would have resented that implied acceptance of her 
claim to no beauty. But Pollyanna’'s first words 
showed him that even this lurking fear of his was 
quite groundless. 

“ Why, I just am not,” she laughed, a little ruefully. 

“ I wasn’t made that way. Maybe you don’t remem¬ 
ber, but long ago, when I was a little girl, it always 
seemed to me that one of the nicest things Heaven 
was going to give me when I got there was black 
curls.” 

“ And is that your chief desire now? ” 

“ N-no, maybe not,” hesitated Pollyanna. " But I 
still think I’d like them. Besides, my eyelashes aren’t 
long enough, and my nose isn’t Grecian, or Roman, 
or any of those delightfully desirable ones that belong 
to a ‘ type.’ It’s just nose. And my face is too long, 
or too short, I’ve forgotten which; but I measured it 
once with one of those ‘ correct-for-beauty ’ tests, and 
it wasn’t right, anyhow. And they said the width of 
the face should be equal to five eyes, and the width 
of the eyes equal to — to something else. I’ve for¬ 
gotten that, too — only that mine wasn’t.” 

“ What a lugubrious picture! ” laughed Pendleton. 
Then, with his gaze admiringly regarding the girl’s 
animated face and expressive eyes, he asked: 

“ Did you ever look in the mirror when you were 
talking, Pollyanna?” 

“Why, no, of course not!” 




A Matter of Adjustment 


187 


“ Well, you’d better try it sometime.” 

“What a funny idea! Imagine my doing it,” 
laughed the girl. “What shall I say? Like this? 
‘ Now, you, Pollyanna, what if your eyelashes aren’t 
long, and your nose is just a nose, be glad you’ve got 
some eyelashes and some nose ! 9 ” 

Pendleton joined in her laugh, but an odd expres¬ 
sion came to his face. 

“ Then you still play — the game,” he said, a little 
diffidently. 

Pollyanna turned soft eyes of wonder full upon him. 

“ Why, of course! Why, Jimmy, I don’t believe I 
could have lived — the last six months — if it hadn’t 
been for that blessed game.” Her voice shook a little. 

“ I haven’t heard you say much about it,” he com¬ 
mented. 

She changed color. 

“ I know. I think Pm afraid — of saying too 
much — to outsiders, who don’t care, you know. It 
wouldn’t sound quite the same from me now, at twenty, 
as it did when I was ten. I realize that, of course. 
Folks don’t like to be preached at, you know,” she 
finished with a whimsical smile. 

“ I know,” nodded the young fellow gravely. “ But 
I wonder sometimes, Pollyanna, if you really under¬ 
stand yourself what that game is, and what it has 
done for those who are playing it.” 

“ I know — what it has done for myself.” Her 
voice was low, and her eyes were turned away. 

“ You see, it really works, if you play it,” he mused 
aloud, after a short silence. “ Somebody said once 



188 Pollyanna Grows Up 


that it would revolutionize the world if everybody 
would really play it. And I believe it would.” 

“Yes; but some folks don’t want to be revolu¬ 
tionized,” smiled Pollyanna. “ I ran across a man in 
Germany last year. He had lost his money, and was 
in hard luck generally. Dear, dear, but he was 
gloomy! Somebody in my presence tried to cheer 
him up one day by saying, ‘ Come, come, things might 
be worse, you know! ’ Dear, dear, but you should 
have heard that man then! 

“ ‘ If there is anything on earth that makes me mad 
clear through,’ he snarled, ‘ it is to be told that things 
might be worse, and to be thankful for what I’ve got 
left. These people who go around with an everlasting 
grin on their faces caroling forth that they are thank¬ 
ful that they can breathe, or eat, or walk, or lie down, 
I have no use for. I don’t want to breathe, or eat, 
or walk, or lie down — if things are as they are now 
with me. And when I’m told that I ought to be thank¬ 
ful for some such tommy rot as that, it makes me just 
want to go out and shoot somebody! ’ Imagine what 
7’d have gotten if I’d have introduced the glad game 
to that man! ” laughed Pollyanna. 

“ I don’t care. He needed it,” answered Jimmy. 

“Of course he did — but he wouldn’t have thanked 
me for giving it to him.” 

“ I suppose not. But, listen! As he was, under his 
present philosophy and scheme of living, he made him¬ 
self and everybody else wretched, didn’t he? Well, 
just suppose he was playing the game. While he was 
trying to hunt up something to be glad about in every- 



A Matter of Adjustment 


189 


thing that had happened to him, he couldn’t be at the 
same time grumbling and growling about how bad 
things were; so that much would be gained. He’d be 
a whole lot easier to live with, both for himself and 
for his friends. Meanwhile, just thinking of the 
doughnut instead of the hole couldn’t make things 
any worse for him, and it might make things better; 
for it wouldn’t give him such a gone feeling in the pit 
of his stomach, and his digestion would be better. I 
tell you, troubles are poor things to hug. They’ve 
got too many prickers.” 

Pollyanna smiled appreciatively. 

“ That makes me think of what I told a poor old 
lady once. She was one of my Ladies’ Aiders out 
West, and was one of the kind of people that really 
enjoys being miserable and telling over her causes for 
unhappiness. I was perhaps ten years old, and was 
trying to teach her the game. I reckon I wasn’t 
having very good success, and evidently I at last dimly 
realized the reason, for I said to her triumphantly: 
‘ Well, anyhow, you can be glad you’ve got such a 
lot of things to make you miserable, for you love to 
be miserable so well! ’ ” 

“ Well, if that wasn’t a good one on her,” chuckled 
Jimmy. 

Pollyanna raised her eyebrows. 

“ I’m afraid she didn’t enjoy it any more than the 
man in Germany would have if I’d told him the same 
thing.” 

“ But they ought to be told, and you ought to 
tell — ” Pendleton stopped short with so queer an 



190 Pollyanna Grows Up 

expression on his face that Pollyanna looked at him 
in surprise. 

“ Why, Jimmy, what is it? ” 

“ Oh, nothing. I was only thinking/’ he answered, 
puckering his lips. “ Here I am urging you to do the 
very thing I was afraid you would do before I saw you, 
you know. That is, I was afraid before I saw you, 
that — that — ” He floundered into a helpless pause, 
looking very red indeed. 

“ Well, Jimmy Pendleton,” bridled the girl, “ you 
needn’t think you can stop there, sir. Now just what 
do you mean by all that, please? ” 

“ Oh, er — n-nothing, much.” 

“ Pm waiting,” murmured Pollyanna. Voice and 
manner were calm and confident, though the eyes 
twinkled mischievously. 

The young fellow hesitated, glanced at her smiling 
face, and capitulated. 

“ Oh, well, have it your own way,” he shrugged. 
“ It’s only that I was worrying — a little — about 
that game, for fear you would talk it just as you used 
to, you know, and — ” But a merry peal of laughter 
interrupted him. 

“ There, what did I tell you ? Even you were wor¬ 
ried, it seems, lest I should be at twenty just what I 
was at ten! ” 

“ N-no, I didn’t mean — Pollyanna, honestly, I 
thought — of course I knew — ” But Pollyanna only 
put her hands to her ears and went off into another 
peal of laughter. 



CHAPTER XIX 


TWO LETTERS 

It was toward the latter part of June that the 
letter came to Pollyanna from Della Wetherby. 

“ I am writing to ask you a favor,” Miss Wetherby 
wrote. “ I am hoping you can tell me of some quiet 
private family in Beldingsville that will be willing to 
take my sister to board for the summer. There would 
be three of them, Mrs. Carew, her secretary, and her 
adopted son, Jamie. (You remember Jamie, don’t 
you?) They do not like to go to an ordinary hotel 
or boarding house. My sister is very tired, and the 
doctor has advised her to go into the country for a 
complete rest and change. He suggested Vermont or 
New Hampshire. We immediately thought of Bel¬ 
dingsville and you; and we wondered if you couldn’t 
recommend just the right place to us. I told Ruth I 
would write you. They would like to go right away, 
early in July, if possible. Would it be asking too 
much to request you to let us know as soon as you 
conveniently can if you do know of a place? Please 
address me here. My sister is with us here at the 
Sanatorium for a few weeks’ treatment. 

“ Hoping for a favorable reply, I am, 

“ Most cordially yours, 

“ Della Wetherby.” 


191 


192 Pollyanna Grows Up 


For the first few minutes after the letter was 
finished, Pollyanna sat with frowning brow, mentally 
searching the homes of Beldingsville for a possible 
boarding house for her old friends. Then a sudden 
something gave her thoughts a new turn, and with 
a joyous exclamation she hurried to her aunt in the 
living-room. 

“ Auntie, auntie,” she panted; “ I’ve got just the 
loveliest idea. I told you something would happen, 
and that Fd develop that wonderful talent sometime. 
Well, I have. I have right now. Listen! Fve had a 
letter from Miss Wetherby, Mrs. Carew’s sister — 
where I stayed that winter in Boston, you know — 
and they want to come into the country to board 
for the summer, and Miss Wetherby’s written to 
see if I didn’t know a place for them. They 
don’t want a hotel or an ordinary boarding house, 
you see. And at first I didn’t know of one; but 
now I do. I do, Aunt Polly! Just guess where 
’tis.” 

“ Dear me, child,” ejaculated Mrs. Chilton, “ how 
you do run on! I should think you were a dozen 
years old instead of a woman grown. Now what are 
you talking about ? ” 

“ About a boarding place for Mrs. Carew and 
Jamie. I’ve found it,” babbled Pollyanna. 

“Indeed! Well, what of it? Of what possible 
interest can that be to me, child?” murmured Mrs. 
Chilton, drearily. 

“Because it’s here. I’m going to have them here, 
auntie.” 



Two Letters 


193 


“ Pollyanna! ” Mrs. Chilton was sitting erect in 
horror. 

“ Now, auntie, please don’t say no — please don’t,” 
begged Pollyanna, eagerly. “Don’t you see? This 
is my chance, the chance I’ve been waiting for; and 
it’s just dropped right into my hands. We can do it 
lovely. We have plenty of room, and you know I 
can cook and keep house. And now there’d be money 
in it, for they’d pay well, I know; 'and they’d love to 
come, I’m sure. There’d be three of them — there’s 
a secretary with them.” 

“But, Pollyanna, I can’t! Turn this house into a 
boarding house ? — the Harrington homestead a com¬ 
mon boarding house? Oh, Pollyanna, I can’t, I 
can’t! ” 

“ But it wouldn’t be a common boarding house, 
dear. ’Twill be an uncommon one. Besides, they’re 
our friends. It would be like having our friends come 
to see us; only they’d be paying guests, so mean¬ 
while we’d be earning money — money that we need, 
auntie, money that we need,” she emphasized sig- 
t nificantly. 

A spasm of hurt pride crossed Polly Chilton’s face. 
With a low moan she fell back in her chair. 

“ But how could you do it ? ” she asked at last, 
faintly. “You couldn’t do the work part alone, child!” 

“ Oh, no, of course not,” chirped Pollyanna. (Pol¬ 
lyanna was on sure ground now. She knew her 
point was won.) “But I could do the cooking and 
the overseeing, and I’m sure I could get one of 
Nancy’s younger sisters to help about the rest. Mrs. 





194 Pollyanna Grows Up 

Durgin would do the laundry part just as she does 
now.’’ 

“But, Pollyanna, I’m not well at all — you know 
I’m not. I couldn’t do much.” 

“Of course not. There’s no reason why you 
should,” scorned Pollyanna, loftily. “ Oh, auntie, 
won’t it be splendid? Why, it seems too good to 
be true — money just dropped into my hands like 
that!” 

“ Dropped into your hands, indeed! You still have 
some things to learn in this world, Pollyanna, and one 
is that summer boarders don’t drop money into any¬ 
body’s hands without looking very sharply to it that 
they get ample return. By the time you fetch and 
carry and bake and brew until you are ready to sink, 
and by the time you nearly kill yourself trying to serve 
everything to order from fresh-laid eggs to the 
weather, you will believe what I tell you.” 

“ All right, I’ll remember,” laughed Pollyanna. 
“But I’m not doing any worrying now; and I’m 
going to hurry and write Miss Wetherby at once so I 
can give it to Jimmy Bean to mail when he comes out 
this afternoon.” 

Mrs. Chilton stirred restlessly. 

“ Pollyanna, I do wish you’d call that young man 
by his proper name. That ‘ Bean ’ gives me the 
shivers. His name is ‘ Pendleton ’ now, as I under¬ 
stand it.” 

“ So it is,” agreed Pollyanna, “ but I do forget it 
half the time. I even call him that to his face, some¬ 
times, and of course that’s dreadful, when he really 



Two Letters 


195 


is adopted, and all. But you see I’m so excited,” she 
finished, as she danced from the room. 

She had the letter all ready for Jimmy when he 
called at four o’clock. She was still quivering with 
excitement, and she lost no time in telling her visitor 
what it was all about. 

“ And I’m crazy to see them, besides,” she cried, 
when she had told him of her plans. “ I’ve never 
seen either of them since that winter. You know I 
told you — didn’t I tell you? — about Jamie.” 

“ Oh, yes, you told me.” There was a touch of 
constraint in the young man’s voice. 

“Well, isn’t it splendid, if they can come?” 

“ Why, I don’t know as I should call it exactly 
splendid,” he parried. 

“ Not splendid that I’ve got such a chance to help 
Aunt Polly out, for even this little while? Why, 
Jimmy, of course it’s splendid.” 

“ Well, it strikes me that it’s going to be rather 
hard — for you,” bridled Jimmy, with more than a 
shade of irritation. 

“ Yes, of course, in some ways. But I shall be so 
glad for the money coming in that I’ll think of that 
all the time. You see,” she sighed, “ how mercenary 
I am, Jimmy.” 

For a long minute there was no reply; then, a little 
abruptly, the young man asked: 

“Let’s see, how old is this Jamie now?” 

Pollyanna glanced up with a merry smile. 

“ Oh, I remember — you never did like his name, 

‘ Jamie,’ ” she twinkled. “ Never mind; he’s adopted 




196 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


now, legally, I believe, and has taken the name of 
Carew. So you can call him that.” 

“ But that isn’t telling me how old he is,” reminded 
Jimmy, stiffly. 

“ Nobody knows, exactly, I suppose. You know he 
couldn’t tell; but I imagine he’s about your age. I 
wonder how he is now. I’ve asked all about it in this 
letter, anyway.” 

“ Oh, you have! ” Pendleton looked down at the 
letter in his hand and flipped it a little spitefully. He 
was thinking that he would like to drop it, to tear it 
up, to give it to somebody, to throw it away, to do 
anything with it — but mail it. 

Jimmy knew perfectly well that he was jealous, that 
he always had been jealous of this youth with the 
name so like and yet so unlike his own. Not that he 
was in love with Pollyanna, he assured himself wrath- 
fully. He was not that, of course. It was just that 
he did not care to have this strange youth with the 
sissy name come to Beldingsville and be always around 
to spoil all their good times. He almost said as much 
to Pollyanna, but something stayed the words on his 
lips; and after a time he took his leave, carrying the 
letter with him. 

That Jimmy did not drop the letter, tear it up, 
give it to anybody, or throw it away was evidenced a 
few days later, for Pollyanna received a prompt and 
delighted reply from Miss Wetherby; and when 
Jimmy came next time he heard it read — or rather 
he heard part of it, for Pollyanna prefaced the read¬ 
ing by saying: 



Two Letters 


197 




“ Of course the first part is just where she says 
how glad they are to come, and all that. I won’t read 
that. But the rest I thought you’d like to hear, be¬ 
cause you’ve heard me talk so much about them. Be¬ 
sides, you’ll know them yourself pretty soon, of 
course. I’m depending a whole lot on you, Jimmy, 
to help me make it pleasant for them.” 

“ Oh, are you! ” 

“ Now don’t be sarcastic, just because you don’t 
like Jamie’s name,” reproved Pollyanna, with mock 
severity. “ You’ll like him, I’m sure, when you know 
him; and you’ll love Mrs. Carew.” 

“ Will I, indeed? ” retorted Jimmy huffily. “ Well, 
that is a serious prospect. Let us hope, if I do, the 
lady will be so gracious as to reciprocate.” 

“ Of course,” dimpled Pollyanna. “ Now listen, 
and I’ll read to you about her. This letter is from 
her sister, Della — Miss Wetherby, you know, at the 
Sanatorium.” 

“ All right. Go ahead!” directed Jimmy, with a 
somewhat too evident attempt at polite interest. And 
Pollyanna, still smiling mischievously, began to read. 

“ You ask me to tell you everything about every¬ 
body. That is a large commission, but I’ll do the 
best I can. To begin with, I think you’ll find my sister 
quite changed. The new interests that have come into 
her life during the last six years have done wonders 
for her. Just now she is a bit thin and tired from 
overwork, but a good rest will soon remedy that, and 
you’ll see how young and blooming and happy she 
looks. Please notice I said happy . That won’t mean 







198 


Polly anna Grows Up 


so much to you as it does to me, of course, for you 
were too young to realize quite how unhappy she was 
when you first knew her that winter in Boston. Life 
was such a dreary, hopeless thing to her then; and 
now it is so full of interest and joy. 

“ First she has Jamie, and when you see them to¬ 
gether you won’t need to be told what he is to her. 
To be sure, we are no nearer knowing whether he is 
the real Jamie, or not, but my sister loves him like an 
own son now, and has legally adopted him, as I pre¬ 
sume you know. 

“ Then she has her girls. Do you remember Sadie 
Dean, the salesgirl? Well, from getting interested in 
her, and trying to help her to a happier living, my 
sister has broadened her efforts little by little, until 
she has scores of girls now who regard her as their 
own best and particular good angel. She has started 
a Home for Working Girls along new lines. Half a 
dozen wealthy and influential men and women are 
associated with her, of course, but she is head and 
shoulders of the whole thing, and never hesitates to 
give herself to each and every one of the girls. You 
can imagine what that means in nerve strain. Her 
chief support and right-hand man is her secretary, 
this same Sadie Dean. You’ll find her changed, too, 
yet she is the same old Sadie. 

“ As for Jamie — poor Jamie! The great sorrow 
of his life is that he knows now he can never walk. 
For a time we all had hopes. He was here at the 
Sanatorium under Dr. Ames for a year, and he im¬ 
proved to such an extent that he can go now with 



Two Letters 


199 


crutches. But the poor boy will always be a cripple — 
so far as his feet are concerned, but never as regards 
anything else. Someway, after you know Jamie, you 
seldom think of him as a cripple, his soul is so free. 
I can't explain it, but you’ll know what I mean when 
you see him; and he has retained, to a marvelous de¬ 
gree, his old boyish enthusiasm and joy of living. 
There is just one thing — and only one, I believe — 
that would utterly quench that bright spirit and cast 
him into utter despair; and that is to find that he is 
not Jamie Kent, our nephew. So long has he brooded 
over this, and so ardently has he wished it, that he 
has come actually to believe that he is the real 
Jamie; but if he isn’t, I hope he will never find it 
out.” 

“ There, that’s all she says about them,” announced 
Pollyanna, folding up the closely-written sheets in her 
hands. “ But isn’t that interesting?” 

“ Indeed it is! ” There was a ring of genuineness 
in Jimmy’s voice now. Jimmy was thinking suddenly 
of what his own good legs meant to him. He even, 
for the moment, was willing that this poor crippled 
youth should have a part of Pollyanna’s thoughts and 
attentions, if he were not so presuming as to claim 
too much of them, of course! “ By George! it is 

tough for the poor chap, and no mistake.” 

“ Tough! You don’t know anything about it, 
Jimmy Bean,” choked Pollyanna; “ but / do. I 
couldn’t walk once. I know!” 

“ Yes, of course, of course/-’ frowned the youth, 
moving restively in his seat. Jimmy, looking into 





200 


Follyanna Grows Up 


Pollyanna’s sympathetic face and brimming eyes was 
suddenly not so sure, after all, that he was willing 
to have this Jamie come to town — if just to think of 
him made Pollyanna look like that! 



CHAPTER XX 


THE PAYING GUESTS 

The few intervening days before the expected ar¬ 
rival of “ those dreadful people,” as Aunt Polly 
termed her niece’s paying guests, were busy ones in¬ 
deed for Pollyanna — but they were happy ones, too, 
as Pollyanna refused to be weary, or discouraged, or 
dismayed, no matter how puzzling were the daily 
problems she had to meet. 

Summoning Nancy, and Nancy’s younger sister, 
Betty, to her aid, Pollyanna systematically went 
through the house, room by room, and arranged for 
the comfort and convenience of her expected boarders. 
Mrs. Chilton could do but little to assist. In the first 
place she was not well. In the second place her mental 
attitude toward the whole idea was not conducive to 
aid or comfort, for at her side stalked always the 
Harrington pride of name and race, and on her lips 
was the constant moan: 

“ Oh, Pollyanna, Pollyanna, to think of the Har¬ 
rington homestead ever coming to this! ” 

“ It isn’t, dearie,” Pollyanna at last soothed laugh¬ 
ingly. “ It’s the Carews that are coming to the Har¬ 
rington homestead! ” 

But Mrs. Chilton was not to be so lightly diverted, 
and responded only with a scornful glance and a 

201 







202 Polly anna Grows Up 


deeper sigh, so Polly anna was forced to leave her to 
travel alone her road of determined gloom. 

Upon the appointed day, Pollyanna with Timothy 
(who owned the Harrington horses now) went to the 
station to meet the afternoon train. Up to this hour 
there had been nothing but confidence and joyous an¬ 
ticipation in Pollyanna’s heart. But with the whistle 
of the engine there came to her a veritable panic of 
doubt, shyness, and dismay. She realized suddenly 
what she, Pollyanna, almost alone and unaided, was 
about to do. She remembered Mrs. Carew’s wealth, 
position, and fastidious tastes. She recollected, too, 
that this would be a new, tall, young-man Jamie, quite 
unlike the boy she had known. 

For one awful moment she thought only of getting 
away — somewhere, anywhere. 

“ Timothy, I — I feel sick. I’m not well. I — tell 
’em — er — not to come,” she faltered, poising as if 
for flight. 

“ Ma’am!” exclaimed the startled Timothy. 

One glance into Timothy’s amazed face was 
enough. Pollyanna laughed and threw back her 
shoulders alertly. 

“ Nothing. Never mind! I didn’t mean it, of 
course, Timothy. Quick — see! They’re almost 
here,” she panted. And Pollyanna hurried forward, 
quite herself once more. 

She knew them at once. Even had there been any 
doubt in her mind, the crutches in the hands of the 
tall, brown-eyed young man would have piloted her 
straight to her goal. 



The Paying Guests 


203 


There were a brief few minutes of eager hand¬ 
clasps and incoherent exclamations, then, somehow, 
she found herself in the carriage with Mrs. Carew at 
her side, and Jamie and Sadie Dean in front. She had 
a chance, then, for the first time, really to see her 
friends, and to note the changes the six years had 
wrought. 

In regard to Mrs. Carew, her first feeling was one 
of surprise. She had forgotten that Mrs. Carew was 
so lovely. She had forgotten that the eyelashes were 
so long, that the eyes they shaded were so beautiful. 
She even caught herself thinking enviously of how 
exactly that perfect face must tally, figure by figure, 
with that dread beauty-test-table. But more than any¬ 
thing else she rejoiced in the absence of the old fret¬ 
ful lines of gloom and bitterness. 

Then she turned to Jamie. Here again she was 
surprised, and for much the same reason. Jamie, too, 
had grown handsome. To herself Polly anna declared 
that he was really distinguished looking. His dark 
eyes, rather pale face, and dark, waving hair she 
thought most attractive. Then she caught a glimpse 
of the crutches at his side, and a spasm of aching 
sympathy contracted her throat. 

From Jamie Pollyanna turned to Sadie Dean. 
Sadie, so far as features went, looked much as she had 
when Pollyanna first saw her in the Public Garden; 
but Pollyanna did not need a second glance to know 
that Sadie, so far as hair, dress, temper, speech, and 
disposition were concerned, was a very different Sadie 
indeed. 







204 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


Then Jamie spoke. 

“ How good you were to let us come,” he said to 
Pollyanna. “ Do you know what I thought of when 
you wrote that we could come ? ” 

“ Why, n-no, of course not,” stammered Pollyanna. 
Pollyanna was still seeing the crutches at Jamie’s side, 
and her throat was still tightened from that aching 
sympathy. 

“ Well, I thought of the little maid in the Public 
Garden with her bag of peanuts for Sir Lancelot and 
Lady Guinevere, and I knew that you were just putting 
us in their places, for if you had a bag of peanuts, 
and we had none, you wouldn’t be happy till you’d 
shared it with us.” 

“ A bag of peanuts, indeed! ” laughed Pollyanna. 

“ Oh, of course in this case, your bag of peanuts 
happened to be airy country rooms, and cow’s milk, 
and real eggs from a real hen’s nest,” returned Jamie 
whimsically; “ but it amounts to the same thing. And 
maybe Pd better warn you — you remember how 
greedy Sir Lancelot was; — well — ” He paused 
meaningly. 

“ All right, I’ll take the risk,” dimpled Pollyanna, 
thinking how glad she was that Aunt Polly was not 
present to hear her worst predictions so nearly fulfilled 
thus early. “ Poor Sir Lancelot! I wonder if any¬ 
body feeds him now, or if he’s there at all.” 

“ Well, if he’s there, he’s fed,” interposed Mrs. 
Carew, merrily. “ This ridiculous boy still goes down 
there at least once a week with his pockets bulging 
with peanuts and I don’t know what all. He can be 



The Paying Guests 


205 


traced any time by the trail of small grains he leaves 
behind him; and half the time, when I order my cereal 
for breakfast it isn’t forthcoming, because, forsooth, 
‘Master Jamie has fed it to the pigeons, ma’am! ’ ” 

“ Yes, but let me tell you,” plunged in Jamie, en¬ 
thusiastically. And the next minute Pollyanna found 
herself listening with all the old fascination to a story 
of a couple of squirrels in a sunlit garden. Later she 
saw what Della Wetherby had meant in her letter, 
for when the house was reached, it came as a distinct 
shock to her to see Jamie pick up his crutches and 
swing himself out of the carriage with their aid. She 
knew then that already in ten short minutes he had 
made her forget that he was lame. 

To Pollyanna’s great relief that first dreaded meet¬ 
ing between Aunt Polly and the Carew party passed 
off much better than she had feared. The newcomers 
were so frankly delighted with the old house and 
everything in it, that it was an utter impossibility for 
the mistress and owner of it all to continue her stiff 
attitude of disapproving resignation to their presence. 
Besides, as was plainly evident before an hour had 
passed, the personal charm and magnetism of Jamie 
had pierced even Aunt Polly’s armor of distrust; 
and Pollyanna knew that at least one of her own 
most dreaded problems was a problem no longer, for 
already Aunt Polly was beginning to play the stately, 
yet gracious hostess to these, her guests. 

Notwithstanding her relief at Aunt Polly’s change 
of attitude, however, Pollyanna did not find that all 
was smooth sailing, by any means. There was work. 






206 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


and plenty of it, that must be done. Nancy’s sister, 
Betty, was pleasant and willing, but she was not 
Nancy, as Pollyanna soon found. She needed train¬ 
ing, and training took time. Pollyanna worried, too, 
for fear everything should not be quite right. To 
Pollyanna, those days, a dusty chair was a crime and 
a fallen cake a tragedy. 

Gradually, however, after incessant arguments and 
pleadings on the part of Mrs. Carew and Jamie, Pol¬ 
lyanna came to take her tasks more easily, and to 
realize that the real crime and tragedy in her friends’ 
eyes was, not the dusty chair nor the fallen cake, 
but the frown of worry and anxiety on her own 
face. 

“ Just as if it wasn’t enough for you to let us come,” 
Jamie declared, “ without just killing yourself with 
work to get us something to eat.” 

“ Besides, we ought not to eat so much, anyway,” 
Mrs. Carew laughed, “ or else we shall get ‘ digestion,’ 
as one of my girls calls it when her food disagrees 
with her.” 

It was wonderful, after all, how easily the three 
new members of the family fitted into the daily life. 
Before twenty-four hours had passed, Mrs. Carew had 
gotten Mrs. Chilton to asking really interested ques¬ 
tions about the new Home for Working Girls, and 
Sadie Dean and Jamie were quarreling over the chance 
to help with the pea-shelling or the flower-picking. 

The Carews had been at the Harrington homestead 
nearly a week when one evening John Pendleton and 
Jimmy called. Pollyanna had been hoping they would 



The Paying Guests 


207 


come soon. She had, indeed, urged it very strongly 
before the Carews came. She made the introductions 
now with visible pride. 

“ You are such good friends of mine, I want you to 
know each other, and be good friends together,” she 
explained. 

That Jimmy and Mr. Pendleton should be clearly 
impressed with the charm and beauty of Mrs. Carew 
did not surprise Pollyanna in the least; but the look 
that came into Mrs. Carew’s face at sight of Jimmy 
did surprise her very much. It was almost a look of 
recognition. 

“ Why, Mr. Pendleton, haven’t I met you before? ” 
Mrs. Carew cried. 

Jimmy’s frank eyes met Mrs. Carew’s gaze squarely, 
admiringly. 

“ I think not,” he smiled back at her. “ I’m sure I 
never have met you. I should have remembered it — 
if / had met you ” he bowed. 

So unmistakable was his significant emphasis that 
everybody laughed, and John Pendleton chuckled: 

“ Well done, son — for a youth of your tender 
years. I couldn’t have done half so well myself.” 

Mrs. Carew flushed slightly and joined in the laugh. 

“ No, but really,” she urged; “joking aside, there 
certainly is a strangely familiar something in your 
face. I think I must have seen you somewhere, if I 
haven’t actually met you.” 

“ And maybe you have,” cried Pollyanna, “ in Bos¬ 
ton. Jimmy goes to Tech there winters, you know. 
Jimmy’s going to build bridges and dams, you see — 




208 Pollyanna Grows Up 


when he grows up, I mean,” she finished with a merry 
glance at the big six-foot fellow still standing before 
Mrs. Carew. 

Everybody laughed again — that is, everybody but 
Jamie; and only Sadie Dean noticed that Jamie, in¬ 
stead of laughing, closed his eyes as if at the sight of 
something that hurt. And only Sadie Dean knew how 7 
— and why — the subject was so quickly changed, for 
it was Sadie herself who changed it. It was Sadie, 
too, who, when the opportunity came, saw to it that 
books and flowers and beasts and birds — things that 
Jamie knew and understood — were talked about as 
well as dams and bridges which (as Sadie knew), 
Jamie could never build. That Sadie did all this, 
however, was not realized by anybody, least of all by 
Jamie, the one who most of all was concerned. 

When the call was over and the Pendletons had 
gone, Mrs. Carew referred again to the curiously 
haunting feeling that somewhere she had seen young 
Pendleton before. 

“ I have, I know I have — somewhere,” she de¬ 
clared musingly. “Of course it may have been in 
Boston; but — ” She let the sentence remain un¬ 
finished ; then, after a minute she added: “ He’s a 
fine young fellow, anyway. I like him.” 

“ I’m so glad! I do, too,” nodded Pollyanna. 
“ I’ve always liked Jimmy.” 

“You’ve known him some time, then?” queried 
Jamie, a little wistfully. 

“ Oh, yes. I knew him years ago when I was a 
little girl, you know. He was Jimmy Bean then.” 



The Paying Guests 


209 


“ Jimmy Bean! Why, isn’t he Mr. Pendleton’s 
son?” asked Mrs. Carew, in surprise. 

“ No, only by adoption.” 

“Adoption!” exclaimed Jamie. “Then he isn’t 
a real son any more than I am.” There was a curious 
note of almost joy in the lad’s voice. 

“ No. Mr. Pendleton hasn’t any children. He 
never married. He — he was going to, once, but he 
— he didn’t.” Pollyanna blushed and spoke with sud¬ 
den diffidence. Pollyanna had never forgotten that it 
was her mother who, in the long ago, had said no 
to this same John Pendleton, and who had thus been 
responsible for the man’s long, lonely years of 
bachelorhood. 

Mrs. Carew and Jamie, however, being unaware of 
this, and seeing now only the blush on Pollyanna’s 
cheek and the diffidence in her manner, drew suddenly 
the same conclusion. 

“ Is it possible,” they asked themselves, “ that this 
man, John Pendleton, ever had a love affair with 
Pollyanna, child that she is ? ” 

Naturally they did not say this aloud; so, naturally, 
there was no answer possible. Naturally, too, per¬ 
haps, the thought, though unspoken, was still not for¬ 
gotten, but was tucked away in a corner of their 
minds for future reference — if need arose. 





CHAPTER XXI 


SUMMER DAYS 

Before the Carews came, Pollyanna had told Jimmy 
that she was depending on him to help her entertain 
them. Jimmy had not expressed himself then as be¬ 
ing overwhelmingly desirous to serve her in this way; 
but before the Carews had been in town a fortnight, 
he had shown himself as not only willing but anxious, 
— judging by the frequency and length of his calls, 
and the lavishness of his offers of the Pendleton 
horses and motor cars. 

Between him and Mrs. Carew there sprang up at 
once a warm friendship based on what seemed to be a 
peculiarly strong attraction for each other. They 
walked and talked together, and even made sundry 
plans for the Home for Working Girls, to be carried 
out the following winter when Jimmy should be in 
Boston. Jamie, too, came in for a good measure of 
attention, nor was Sadie Dean forgotten. Sadie, as 
Mrs. Carew plainly showed, was to be regarded as if 
she were quite one of the family; and Mrs. Carew 
was careful to see that she had full share in any plans 
for merrymaking. 

Nor did Jimmy always come alone with his offers 
for entertainment. More and more frequently John 
Pendleton appeared with him. Rides and drives and 
210 


Summer Days 


211 


picnics were planned and carried out, and long de¬ 
lightful afternoons were spent over books and fancy- 
work on the Harrington veranda. 

Pollyanna was delighted. Not only were her pay¬ 
ing guests being kept from any possibilities of ennui 
and homesickness, but her good friends, the Carews, 
were becoming delightfully acquainted with her other 
good friends, the Pendletons. So, like a mother hen 
with a brood of chickens, she hovered over the 
veranda meetings, and did everything in her power 
to keep the group together and happy. 

’ Neither the Carews nor the Pendletons, however, 
were at all satisfied to have Pollyanna merely an on¬ 
looker in their pastimes, and very strenuously they 
urged her to join them. They would not take no for 
an answer, indeed, and Pollyanna very frequently 
found the way opened for her. 

“ Just as if we were going to have you poked up in 
this hot kitchen frosting cake!” Jamie scolded one 
day, after he had penetrated the fastnesses of her 
domain. “ It is a perfectly glorious morning, and 
we’re all going over to the Gorge and take our 
luncheon. And you are going with us.” 

“But, Jamie, I can’t — indeed I can’t,” refused 
Pollyanna. 

“ Why not? You won’t have dinner to get for us, 
for we sha’n’t be here to eat it.” 

“ But there’s the — the luncheon.” 

“ Wrong again. We’ll have the luncheon with us, 
so you can’t stay home to get that. Now what’s to 
hinder your going along with the luncheon, eh ? ” 



212 Pollyanna Grows Up 

“Why, Jamie, I — I can’t. There’s the cake to 
frost — ” 

“ Don’t want it frosted.” 

“ And the dusting — ” 

“ Don’t want it dusted.” 

“ And the ordering to do for to-morrow.” 

“ Give us crackers and milk. We’d lots rather have 
you and crackers and milk than a turkey dinner and 
not you.” 

“ But I can’t begin to tell you the things I’ve got 
to do to-day.” 

“ Don’t want you to begin to tell me,” retorted 
Jamie, cheerfully. “ I want you to stop telling me. 
Come, put on your bonnet. I saw Betty in the dining 
room, and she says she’ll put our luncheon up. Now 
hurry.” 

“ Why, Jamie, you ridiculous boy, I can’t go,” 
laughed Pollyanna, holding feebly back, as he tugged 
at her dress-sleeve. “ I can’t go to that picnic with 
you! ” 

But she went. She went not only then, but again 
and again. She could not help going, indeed, for she 
found arrayed against her not only Jamie, but Jimmy 
and Mr. Pendleton, to say nothing of Mrs. Carew and 
Sadie Dean, and even Aunt Polly herself. 

“ And of course I am glad to go,” she would sigh 
happily, when some dreary bit of work was taken out 
of her hands in spite of all protesting. “ But, surely, 
never before were there any boarders like mine — 
teasing for crackers-and-milk and cold things; and 
never before was there a boarding mistress like 



Summer Days 


213 


me — running around the country after this fash¬ 
ion ! ” 

The climax came when one day John Pendleton 
(and Aunt Polly never ceased to exclaim because it 
was John Pendleton)—suggested that they all go 
on a two weeks’ camping trip to a little lake up among 
the mountains forty miles from Beldingsville. 

The idea was received with enthusiastic approba¬ 
tion by everybody except Aunt Polly. Aunt Polly 
said, privately, to Pollyanna, that it was all very 
good and well and desirable that John Pendleton 
should have gotten out of the sour, morose aloofness 
that had been his state for so many years, but that 
it did not necessarily follow that it was equally de¬ 
sirable that he should be trying to turn himself into 
a twenty-year-old boy again; and that was what, 
in her opinion, he seemed to be doing now! Publicly 
she contented herself with saying coldly that she 
certainly should not go on any insane camping trip 
to sleep on damp ground and eat bugs and spiders, 
under the guise of “ fun,” nor did she think it a sensi¬ 
ble thing for anybody over forty to do. 

If John Pendleton felt any wound from this shaft, 
he made no sign. Certainly there was no diminution 
of apparent interest and enthusiasm on his part, and 
the plans for the camping expedition came on apace, 
for it was unanimously decided that, even if Aunt 
Polly would not go, that was no reason why the rest 
should not. 

“ And Mrs. Carew will be all the chaperon we need, 
anyhow,” Jimmy had declared airily. 





214 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


For a week, therefore, little was talked of but tents, 
food supplies, cameras, and fishing tackle, and little 
was done that was not a preparation in some way for 
the trip. 

“ And let’s make it the real thing,” proposed Jimmy, 
eagerly, “ —■ yes, even to Mrs. Chilton’s bugs and 
spiders,” he added, with a merry smile straight into 
that lady’s severely disapproving eyes. “ None of 
your log-cabin-central-dining-room idea for us! We 
want real camp-fires with potatoes baked in the ashes, 
and we want to sit around and tell stories and roast 
corn on a stick.” 

“ And we want to swim and row and fish,” chimed 
in Pollyanna. “ And — ” She stopped suddenly, her 
eyes on Jamie’s face. “ That is, of course,” she cor¬ 
rected quickly, “ we wouldn’t want to — to do those 
things all the time. There’d be a lot of quiet things 
we’d want to do, too — read and talk, you know.” 

Jamie’s eyes darkened. His face grew a little white. 
His lips parted, but before any words came, Sadie 
Dean was speaking. 

“ Oh, but on camping trips and picnics, you know, 
we expect to do outdoor stunts,” she interposed 
feverishly; “ and I’m sure we want to. Last summer 
we were down in Maine, and you should have seen 
the fish Mr. Carew caught. It was — You tell it,” 
she begged, turning to Jamie. 

Jamie laughed and shook his head. 

“ They’d never believe it,” he objected; “ — a fish 
story like that! ” 

“ Try us,” challenged Pollyanna. 






Summer Days 


215 


Jamie still shook his head — but the color had come 
back to his face, and his eyes were no longer somber 
as if with pain. Pollyanna, glancing at Sadie Dean, 
vaguely wondered why she suddenly settled back in 
her seat with so very evident an air of relief. 

At last the appointed day came, and the start was 
made in John Pendleton’s big new touring car with 
Jimmy at the wheel. A whir, a throbbing rumble, a 
chorus of good-bys, and they were off, with one long 
shriek of the siren under Jimmy’s mischievous fingers. 

In after days Pollyanna often went back in her 
thoughts to that first night in camp. The experience 
was so new and so wonderful in so many ways. 

It was four o’clock when their forty-mile auto¬ 
mobile journey came to an end. Since half-past three 
their big car had been ponderously picking its way 
over an old logging-road not designed for six-cylinder 
automobiles. For the car itself, and for the hand 
at the wheel, this part of the trip was a most wearing 
one; but for the merry passengers, who had no re¬ 
sponsibility concerning hidden holes and muddy 
curves, it was nothing but a delight growing more 
poignant with every new vista through the green 
arches, and with every echoing laugh that dodged the 
low-hanging branches. 

The site for the camp was one known to John 
Pendleton years before, and he greeted it now with 
a satisfied delight that was not unmingled with relief. 

“ Oh, how perfectly lovely! ” chorused the others. 

“ Glad you like it! I thought it would be about 
right,” nodded John Pendleton. “ Still, I was a little 



216 


Pollyanna 6-rows Up 


anxious, after all, for these places do change, you 
know, most remarkably sometimes. And of course 
this has grown up to bushes a little — but not so but 
what we can easily clear it.” 

Everybody fell to work then, clearing the ground, 
putting up the two little tents, unloading the auto¬ 
mobile, building the camp fire, and arranging the 
“ kitchen and pantry.” 

It was then that Pollyanna began especially to no¬ 
tice Jamie, and to fear for him. She realized sud¬ 
denly that the hummocks and hollows and pine- 
littered knolls were not like a carpeted floor for a 
pair of crutches, and she saw that Jamie was realizing 
it, too. She saw, also, that in spite of his infirmity, 
he was trying to take his share in the work; and the 
sight troubled her. Twice she hurried forward and 
intercepted him, taking from his arms the box he was 
trying to carry. 

“ Here, let me take that,” she begged. “ You’ve 
done enough.” And the second time she added: “ Do 
go and sit down somewhere to rest, Jamie. You look 
so tired! ” 

If she had been watching closely she would have 
seen the quick color sweep to his forehead. But she 
was not watching, so she did not see it. She did see, 
however, to her intense surprise, Sadie Dean hurry 
forward a moment later, her arms full of boxes, and 
heard her cry: 

“ Oh, Mr. Carew, please, if you would give me a 
lift with these! ” 

The next moment, Jamie, once more struggling with 



Summer Days 


217 


the problem of managing a bundle of boxes and two 
crutches, was hastening toward the tents. 

With a quick word of protest on her tongue, Polly- 
anna turned to Sadie Dean. But the protest died un¬ 
spoken, for Sadie, her finger to her lips, was hurrying 
straight toward her. 

“ I know you didn’t think,” she stammered in a low 
voice, as she reached Pollyanna’s side. “ But, don’t 
you see ? — it hurts him — to have you think he 
can’t do things like other folks. There, look! See 
how happy he is now.” 

Pollyanna looked, and she saw. She saw Jamie, 
his whole self alert, deftly balance his weight on one 
crutch and swing his burden to the ground. She saw 
the happy light on his face, and she heard him say 
nonchalantly: 

“ Here’s another contribution from Miss Dean. 
She asked me to bring this over.” 

“ Why, yes, I see,” breathed Pollyanna, turning to 
Sadie Dean. But Sadie Dean had gone. 

Pollyanna watched Jamie a good deal after that, 
though she was careful not to let him, or any one else, 
see that she was watching him. And as she watched, 
her heart ached. Twice she saw him essay a task 
and fail: once with a box too heavy for him to lift; 
once with a folding-table too unwieldy for him to 
carry with his crutches. And each time she saw his 
quick glance about him to see if others noticed. She 
saw, too, that unmistakably he was getting very tired, 
and that his face, in spite of its gay smile, was look¬ 
ing white and drawn, as if he were in pain. 



218 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


“ I should think we might have known more,” 
stormed Pollyanna hotly to herself, her eyes blinded 
with tears. “ I should think we might have known 
more than to have let him come to a place like this. 
Camping, indeed! — and with a pair of crutches! 
Why couldn’t we have remembered before we 
started ? ” 

An hour later, around the camp fire after supper, 
Pollyanna had her answer to this question; for, with 
the glowing fire before her, and the soft, fragrant 
dark all about her, she once more fell under the spell 
of the witchery that fell from Jamie’s lips; and she 
once more forgot — Jamie’s crutches. 



CHAPTER XXII 


COMRADES 

They were a merry party — the six of them — 
and a congenial one. There seemed to be no end to 
the new delights that came with every new day, not 
the least of which was the new charm of companion¬ 
ship that seemed to be a part of this new life they were 
living. 

As Jamie said one night, when they were all sitting 
about the fire: 

“You see, we seem to know each other so much 
better up here in the woods — better in a week than 
we would in a year in town.” 

“ I know it. I wonder why,” murmured Mrs. 
Carew, her eyes dreamily following the leaping blaze. 

“ I think it’s something in the air,” sighed Polly- 
anna, happily. “ There’s something about the sky and 
the woods and the lake so — so — well, there just is; 
that’s all.” 

“ I think you mean, because the world is shut out,” 
cried Sadie Dean, with a curious little break in her 
voice. (Sadie had not joined in the laugh that fol¬ 
lowed Pollyanna’s limping conclusion.) “Up here 
everything is so real and true that we, too, can be our 
real true selves — not what the world says we are be- 
219 


220 


Follyanna Grows Up 


cause we are rich, or poor, or great, or humble; but 
what we really are, ourselves 

“Ho!” scoffed Jimmy, airily. “ All that sounds 
very fine; but the real common-sense reason is be¬ 
cause we don’t have any Mrs. Tom and Dick and 
Harry sitting on their side porches and commenting 
on every time we stir, and wondering among them¬ 
selves where we are going, why we are going there, 
and how long we’re intending to stay! ” 

“ Oh, Jimmy, how you do take the poetry out of 
things,” reproached Pollyanna, laughingly. 

“ But that’s my business,” flashed Jimmy. “ How 
do you suppose I’m going to build dams and bridges 
if I don’t see something besides poetry in the water¬ 
fall?” 

“You can’t, Pendleton! And it’s the bridge — 
that counts — every time,” declared Jamie in a voice 
that brought a sudden hush to the group about the 
fire. It was for only a moment, however, for almost 
at once Sadie Dean broke the silence with a gay: 

“ Pooh! I’d rather have the waterfall every time, 
without any bridge around — to spoil the view! ” 

Everybody laughed — and it was as if a tension 
somewhere snapped. Then Mrs. Carew rose to her 
feet. 

“ Come, come, children, your stern chaperon says 
it’s bedtime! ” And with a merry chorus of good- 
nights the party broke up. 

And so the days passed. To Pollyanna they were 
wonderful days, and still the most wonderful part was 
the charm of close companionship — a companionship 





Comrades 


221 


that, while differing as to details with each one, was 
yet delightful with all. 

With Sadie Dean she talked of the new Home, and 
of what a marvelous work Mrs. Carew was doing. 
They talked, too, of the old days when Sadie was 
selling bows behind the counter, and of what Mrs. 
Carew had done for her. Pollyanna heard, also, 
something of the old father and mother “ back home,” 
and of the joy that Sadie, in her new position, had 
been able to bring into their lives. 

“ And after all it’s really you that began it, you 
know,” she said one day to Pollyanna. But Pollyanna 
only shook her head at this with an emphatic: 

"Nonsense! It was all Mrs. Carew.” 

With Mrs. Carew herself Pollyanna talked also of 
the Home, and of her plans for the girls. And once, 
in the hush of a twilight walk, Mrs. Carew spoke of 
herself and of her changed outlook on life. And she, 
like Sadie Dean, said brokenly: "After all, it’s really 
you that began it, Pollyanna.” But Pollyanna, as in 
Sadie Dean’s case, would have none of this; and she 
began to talk of Jamie, and of what he had done. 

“ Jamie’s a dear,” Mrs. Carew answered affection^ 
ately. “ And I love him like an own son. He couldn’t 
be dearer to me if he were really my sister’s boy.” 

“ Then you don’t think he is ? ” 

“ I don’t know. We’ve never learned anything con¬ 
clusive. Sometimes I’m sure he is. Then again I 
doubt it. I think he really believes he is — bless his 
heart! At all events, one thing is sure: he has good 
blood in him from somewhere. Jamie’s no ordinary 




Pollyanna Grows Up 


222 

waif of the streets, you know, with his talents; and 
the wonderful way he has responded to teaching and 
training proves it.” 

“ Of course,” nodded Pollyanna. “ And as long as 
you love him so well, it doesn’t really matter, anyway, 
does it, whether he’s the real Jamie or not? ” 

Mrs. Carew hesitated. Into her eyes crept the old 
somberness of heartache. 

“ Not so far as he is concerned,” she sighed, at last. 
“ It’s only that sometimes I get to thinking: if he 
isn’t our Jamie, where is — Jamie Kent? Is he well? 
Is he happy? Has he any one to love him? When 
I get to thinking like that, Pollyanna, I’m nearly wild. 
I’d give — everything I have in the world, it seems 
to me, to really know that this boy is Jamie Kent.” 

Pollyanna used to think of this conversation some¬ 
times, in her after talks with Jamie. Jamie was so 
sure of himself. 

“ It’s just somehow that I feel it’s so,” he said once 
to Pollyanna. “ I believe I am Jamie Kent. I’ve be¬ 
lieved it quite a while. I’m afraid I’ve believed it so 
long now, that — that I just couldn’t bear it, to find 
out I wasn’t he. Mrs. Carew has done so much for 
me; just think if, after all, I were only a stranger! ” 

“ But she — loves you, Jamie.” 

“ I know she does — and that would only hurt all 
the more — don’t you see? — because it would be 
hurting her. She wants me to be the real Jamie. I 
know she does. Now if I could only do something for 
her — make her proud of me in some way! If I 
could only do something to support myself, even, like 



Comrades 


223 


a man! But what can I do, with — these?” He 
spoke bitterly, and laid his hand on the crutches at his 
side. 

Pollyanna was shocked and distressed. It was the 
first time she had heard Jamie speak of his infirmity 
since the old boyhood days. Frantically she cast about 
in her mind for just the right thing to say; but be¬ 
fore she had even thought of anything, Jamie’s face 
had undergone a complete change. 

“ But, there, forget it! I didn’t mean to say it,” 
he cried gaily. “ And ’twas rank heresy to the 
game, wasn’t it? I’m sure I’m glad I’ve got the 
crutches, they’re a whole lot nicer than the wheel 
chair! ” 

“And the Jolly Book — do you keep it now?” 
asked Pollyanna, in a voice that trembled a little. 

“Sure! I’ve got a whole library of jolly books 
now,” he retorted. “ They’re all in leather, dark red, 
except the first one. That is the same little old note¬ 
book that Jerry gave me.” 

“ Jerry! And I’ve been meaning all the time to 
ask for him,” cried Pollyanna. “Where is he?” 

“ In Boston; and his vocabulary is j.ust as pic¬ 
turesque as ever, only he has to tone it down at times. 
Jerry’s still in the newspaper business — but he’s 
getting the news, not selling it. Reporting, you know. 
I have been able to help him and mumsey. And don’t 
you suppose I was glad? Mumsey’s in a sanatorium 
for her rheumatism.” 

“ And is she better? ” 

“ Very much. She’s coming out pretty soon, and 



224 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


going to housekeeping with Jerry. Jerry’s been ma¬ 
king up some of his lost schooling during these past 
few years. He’s let me help him — but only as a 
loan. He’s been very particular to stipulate that.” 

“Of course,” nodded Pollyanna, in approval. 
“ He’d want it that way, I’m sure. I should. It isn’t 
nice to be under obligations that you can’t pay. I 
know how it is. That’s why I so wish I could help 
Aunt Polly out — after all she’s done for me! ” 

“ But you are helping her this summer.” 

Pollyanna lifted her eyebrows. 

“ Yes, I’m keeping summer boarders. I look it, 
don’t I ? ” she challenged, with a flourish of her hands 
toward her surroundings. “ Surely, never was a 
boarding-house mistress’s task quite like mine! And 
you should have heard Aunt Polly’s dire predictions 
of what summer boarders would be,” she chuckled 
irrepressibly. 

“ What was that?” 

Pollyanna shook her head decidedly. 

“ Couldn’t possibly tell you. That’s a dead secret. 
But — ” She stopped and sighed, her face growing 
wistful again. “ This isn’t going to last, you know. 
It can’t. Summer boarders don’t. I’ve got to do 1 
something winters. I’ve been thinking. I believe — 
I’ll write stories.” 

Jamie turned with a start. 

“ You’ll — what? ” he demanded. 

“Write stories — to sell, you know. You needn’t 
look so surprised! Lots of folks do that. I knew 
two girls in Germany who did.” 




“ ' THE INSTRUMENT THAI YUU PLAY ON, POLLYANNA, 
WILL BE THE GREAT HEART OF THE WORLD.’ ” 

































• 













Comrades 


225 


“Did you ever try it?” Jamie still spoke a little 
queerly. 

“ N-no; not yet,” admitted Pollyanna. Then, de¬ 
fensively, in answer to the expression on his face, she 
bridled: “ I told you I was keeping summer boarders 
now. I can’t do both at once.” 

“ Of course not! ” 

She threw him a reproachful glance. 

“You don’t think I can ever do it?” 

“ I didn’t say so.” 

“No; but you look it. I don’t see why I can’t. 
It isn’t like singing. You don’t have to have a voice 
for it. And it isn’t like an instrument that you have 
to learn how to play.” 

“ I think it is — a little — like that.” Jamie’s voice 
was low. His eyes were turned away. 

“How? What do you mean? Why, Jamie, just 
a pencil and paper, so — that isn’t like learning to 
play the piano or violin! ” 

There was a moment’s silence. Then came the an¬ 
swer, still in that low, diffident voice; still with the 
eyes turned away. 

“ The instrument that you play on, Pollyanna, will 
be the great heart of the world; and to me that seems 
the most wonderful instrument of all — to learn. 
Under your touch, if you are skilful, it will respond 
with smiles or tears, as you will.” 

Pollyanna drew a tremulous sigh. Her eyes grew 
wet. 

“ Oh, Jamie, how beautifully you do put things — 
always! I never thought of it that way. But it’s so, 



226 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


isn't it? How I would love to do it! Maybe I 
couldn’t do — all that. But I’ve read stories in the 
magazines, lots of them. Seems as if I could write 
some like those, anyway. I love to tell stories. I’m 
always repeating those you tell, and I always laugh 
and cry, too, just as I do when you tell them.” 

Jamie turned quickly. 

“Do they make you laugh and cry, Pollyanna — 
really? ” There was a curious eagerness in his voice. 

“ Of course they do, and you know it, Jamie. And 
they used to long ago, too, in the Public Garden. 
Nobody can tell stories like you, Jamie. You ought 
to be the one writing stories; not I. And, say, Jamie, 
why don’t you ? You could do it lovely, I know! ” 

There was no answer. Jamie, apparently, did not 
hear; perhaps because he called, at that instant, to a 
chipmunk that was scurrying through the bushes near 
by. 

It was not always with Jamie, nor yet with Mrs. 
Carew and Sadie Dean that Pollyanna had delightful 
walks and talks, however; very often it was with 
Jimmy, or John Pendleton. 

Pollyanna was sure now that she had never before 
known John Pendleton. The old taciturn moroseness 
seemed entirely gone since they came to camp. He 
rowed and swam and fished and tramped with fully 
as much enthusiasm as did Jimmy himself, and with 
almost as much vigor. Around the camp fire at night 
he quite rivaled Jamie with his story-telling of adven¬ 
tures, both laughable and thrilling, that had befallen 
him in his foreign travels. 



Comrades 


227 


“ In the ‘ Desert of Sarah,’ Nancy used to call it,” 
laughed Pollyanna one night, as she joined the rest 
in begging for a story. 

Better than all this, however, in Pollyanna’s opinion, 
were the times when John Pendleton, with her alone, 
talked of her mother as he used to know her and love 
her, in the days long gone. That he did so talk with 
her was a joy to Pollyanna, but a great surprise, too; 
for, never in the past, had John Pendleton talked so 
freely of the girl whom he had so loved — hopelessly. 
Perhaps John Pendleton himself felt some of the sur¬ 
prise, for once he said to Pollyanna, musingly: 

“ I wonder why I’m talking to you like this.” 

“ Oh, but I love to have you,” breathed Pollyanna. 

“ Yes, I know — but I wouldn’t think I would do 
it. It must be, though, that it’s because you are so 
like her, as I knew her. You are very like your 
mother, my dear.” 

“ Why, I thought my mother was beautiful! ” cried 
Pollyanna, in unconcealed amazement. 

John Pendleton smiled quizzically. 

“ She was, my dear.” 

Pollyanna looked still more amazed. 

“ Then I don’t see how I can be like her! ” 

The man laughed outright. 

“ Pollyanna, if some girls had said that, I — well, 
never mind what I’d say. You little witch! — you 
poor, homely little Pollyanna! ” 

Pollyanna flashed a genuinely distressed reproof 
straight into the man’s merry eyes. 

“ Please, Mr. Pendleton, don’t look like that, and 



228 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


don’t tease me — about that. I’d so love to be beau¬ 
tiful— though of course it sounds silly to say it. 
And I have a mirror, you know.” 

“ Then I advise you to look in it — when you’re 
talking sometime,” observed the man sententiously. 

Pollyanna’s eyes flew wide open. 

“ Why, that’s just what Jimmy said,” she cried. 

“ Did he, indeed — the young rascal! ” retorted 
John Pendleton, dryly. Then, with one of the curi¬ 
ously abrupt changes of manner peculiar to him, he 
said, very low: “You have your mother’s eyes and 
smile, Pollyanna; and to me you are — beautiful.” 

And Pollyanna, her eyes blinded with sudden hot 
tears, was silenced. 

Dear as were these talks, however, they still were 
not quite like the talks with Jimmy, to Pollyanna. 
For that matter, she and Jimmy did not need to talk 
to be happy. Jimmy was always so comfortable, and 
comforting; whether they talked or not did not mat¬ 
ter. Jimmy always understood. There was no pull¬ 
ing on her heart-strings for sympathy, with Jimmy 
— Jimmy was delightfully big, and strong, and happy. 
Jimmy was not sorrowing for a long-lost nephew, nor 
pining for the loss of a boyhood sweetheart. Jimmy 
did not have to swing himself painfully about on a 
pair of crutches — all of which was so hard to see, 
and know, and think of. With Jimmy one could be 
just glad, and happy, and free. Jimmy was such a 
dear! He always rested one so — did Jimmy! 




CHAPTER XXIII 


TIED TO TWO STICKS 

It was on the last day at camp that it happened. 
To Pollyanna it seemed such a pity that it should have 
happened at all, for it was the first cloud to bring a 
shadow of regret and unhappiness to her heart dur¬ 
ing the whole trip, and she found herself futilely 
sighing: 

“ I wish we’d gone home day before yesterday; 
then it wouldn’t have happened.” 

But they had not gone home “ day before yester¬ 
day,” and it had happened; and this was the manner 
of it. 

Early in the morning of that last day they had all 
started on a two-mile tramp to “ the Basin.” 

“ We’ll have one more bang-up fish dinner before 
we go,” Jimmy had said. And the rest had joyfully 
agreed. 

With luncheon and fishing tackle, therefore, they 
had made an early start. Laughing and calling gaily 
to each other they followed the narrow path through 
the woods, led by Jimmy, who best knew the way. 

At first, close behind Jimmy had walked Pollyanna; 
but gradually she had fallen back with Jamie, who 
was last in the line: Pollyanna had thought she de¬ 
tected on Jamie’s face the expression which she had 
229 


230 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


come to know was there only when he was attempt¬ 
ing something that taxed almost to the breaking-point 
his skill and powers of endurance. She knew that 
nothing would so offend him as to have her openly 
notice this state of affairs. At the same time, she 
also knew that from her, more willingly than from 
any one else, would he accept an occasional steadying 
hand over a troublesome log or stone. Therefore, at 
the .first opportunity to make the change without ap¬ 
parent design, she had dropped back step by step un¬ 
til she had reached her goal, Jamie. She had been 
rewarded instantly in the way Jamie’s face brightened, 
and in the easy assurance with which he met and 
conquered a fallen tree-trunk across their path, under 
the pleasant fiction (carefully fostered by Pollyanna) 
of “ helping her across.” 

Once out of the woods, their way led along an old 
stone wall for a time, with wide reaches of sunny, 
sloping pastures on each side, and a more distant pic¬ 
turesque farmhouse. It was in the adjoining pasture 
that Pollyanna saw the goldenrod which she immedi¬ 
ately coveted. 

“ Jamie, wait! I’m going to get it,” she exclaimed 
eagerly. “ It’ll make such a beautiful bouquet for 
our picnic table! ” And nimbly she scrambled over 
the high stone wall and dropped herself down on the 
other side. 

It was strange how tantalizing was that goldenrod. 
Always just ahead she saw another bunch, and yet 
another, each a little finer than the one within her 
reach. With joyous exclamations and gay little calls 



“Tied to Two Sticks” 


231 


back to the waiting Jamie, Pollyanna — looking par¬ 
ticularly attractive in her scarlet sweater — skipped 
from bunch to bunch, adding to her store. She had 
both hands full when there came the hideous bellow 
of an angry bull, the agonized shout from Jamie, and 
the sound of hoofs thundering down the hillside. 

What happened next was never clear to her. She 
knew she dropped her goldenrod and ran — ran as 
she never ran before, ran as she thought she never 
could run — back toward the wall and Jamie. She 
knew that behind her the hoof-beats were gaining, 
gaining, always gaining. Dimly, hopelessly, far ahead 
of her, she saw Jamie’s agonized face, and heard 
his hoarse cries. Then, from somewhere, came a 
new voice — Jimmy’s — shouting a cheery call of 
courage. 

Still on and on she ran blindly, hearing nearer and 
nearer the thud of those pounding hoofs. Once she 
stumbled and almost fell. Then, dizzily she righted 
herself and plunged forward. She felt her strength 
quite gone when suddenly, close to her, she heard 
Jimmy’s cheery call again. The next minute she felt 
herself snatched off her feet and held close to a great 
throbbing something that dimly she realized was 
Jimmy’s heart. It was all a horrid blur then of cries, 
hot, panting breaths, and pounding hoofs thundering 
nearer, ever nearer. Then, just as she knew those 
hoofs to be almost upon her, she felt herself flung, 
still in Jimmy’s arms, sharply to one side, and yet not 
so far but that she still could feel the hot breath of 
the maddened animal as he dashed by. Almost at 



Pollyanna Grows Up 


232 


once then she found herself on the other side of the 
wall, with Jimmy bending over her, imploring her to 
tell him she was not dead. 

With an hysterical laugh that was yet half a sob, 
she struggled out of his arms and stood upon her feet. 

“ Dead? No, indeed — thanks to you, Jimmy. I’m 
all right. I’m all right. Oh, how glad, glad, glad I 
was to hear your voice! Oh, that was splendid! How 
did you do it ? ” she panted. 

“ Pooh! That was nothing. I just — ” An in¬ 
articulate choking cry brought his words to a sudden 
halt. He turned to find Jamie face down on the 
ground, a little distance away. Pollyanna was already 
hurrying toward him. 

“Jamie, Jamie, what is the matter?” she cried. 
“ Did you fall? Are you hurt? ” 

There was no answer. 

“What is it, old fellow? Are you hurt?” de¬ 
manded Jimmy. 

Still there was no answer. Then, suddenly, Jamie 
pulled himself half upright and turned. They saw his 
face then, and fell back, shocked and amazed. 

“ Hurt ? Am I hurt ? ” he choked huskily, flinging 
out both his hands. “ Don’t you*suppose it hurts to 
see a thing like that and not be able to do anything? 
To be tied, helpless, to a pair of sticks? I tell you 
there’s no hurt in all the world to equal it! ” 

“ But — but — Jamie,” faltered Pollyanna. 

“ Don’t! ” interrupted the cripple, almost harshly. 
He had struggled to his feet now. “ Don’t say — 
anything. I didn’t mean to make a scene — like this,” 



“ Tied to Two Sticks ” 


233 


he finished brokenly, as he turned and swung back 
along the narrow path that led to the camp. 

For a minute, as if transfixed, the two behind him 
watched him go. 

“Well, by — Jove!” breathed Jimmy, then, in a 
voice that shook a little, “ That was — tough on him! ” 

“ And I didn’t think, and praised you, right before 
him,” half-sobbed Pollyanna. “ And his hands — did 
you see them ? They were — bleeding where the nails 
had cut right into the flesh,” she finished, as she turned 
and stumbled blindly up the path. 

“ But, Pollyanna, w-where are you going? ” cried 
Jimmy. 

“ Pm going to Jamie, of course! Do you think I’d 
leave him like that ? Come, we must get him to come 
back.” 

And Jimmy, with a sigh that was not all for Jamie, 
went. 



CHAPTER XXIV 


JIMMY WAKES UP 

Outwardly the camping* trip was pronounced a 
great success; but inwardly — 

Pollyanna wondered sometimes if it were all her¬ 
self, or if there really were a peculiar, indefinable' con¬ 
straint in everybody with everybody else. Certainly 
she felt it, and she thought she saw evidences that the 
others felt it, too. As for the cause of it all — un¬ 
hesitatingly she attributed it to that last day at camp 
with its unfortunate trip to the Basin. 

To be sure, she and Jimmy had easily caught up 
with Jamie, and had, after considerable coaxing, per¬ 
suaded him to turn about and go on to the Basin with 
them. But, in spite of everybody’s very evident ef¬ 
forts to act as if nothing out of the ordinary had 
happened, nobody really succeeded in doing so. Polly¬ 
anna, Jamie, and Jimmy overdid their gayety a bit, 
perhaps; and the others, while not knowing exactly 
what had happened, very evidently felt that something 
was not quite right, though they plainly tried to hide 
the fact that they did feel so. Naturally, in this state 
of affairs, restful happiness was out of the question. 
Even the anticipated fish dinner was flavorless; and 
early in the afternoon the start was made back tQ the 
camp. 


234 


Jimmy Wakes Up 


235 


Once home again, Pollyanna had hoped that the 
unhappy episode of the angry bull would be forgotten. 
But she could not forget it, so in all fairness she could 
not blame the others if they could not. Always she 
thought of it now when she looked af Jamie. She saw 
again the agony on his face, the crimson stain on. the 
palms of his hands. Her heart ached for him, and 
because it did so ache, his mere presence had come to 
be a pain to her. Remorsefully she confessed to her¬ 
self that she did not like to be with Jamie now, nor 
to talk with him — but that did not mean that she 
was not often with him. She was with him, indeed, 
much oftener than before, for so remorseful was she, 
and so fearful was she that he would detect her un¬ 
happy frame of mind, that she lost no opportunity 
of responding to his overtures of comradeship; and 
sometimes she deliberately sought him out. This last 
she did not often have to do, however, for more and 
more frequently these days Jamie seemed to be turn¬ 
ing to her for companionship. 

The reason for this, Pollyanna believed, was to be 
found in this same incident of the bull and the rescue. 
Not that Jamie ever referred to it directly. He never 
did that. He was, too, even gayer than usual; but 
Pollyanna thought she detected sometimes a bitterness 
underneath it all that was never there before. Cer¬ 
tainly she could not help seeing that at times he seemed 
almost to want to avoid the others, and that he actu¬ 
ally sighed, as if with relief, when he found him¬ 
self alone with her. She thought she knew why 
this was so, after he said to her, as he did say 



236 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


one day, while they were watching the others play 
tennis: 

“ You see, after all, Pollyanna, there isn’t any one 
who can quite understand as you can.” 

“ ‘ Understand ’ ? ” Pollyanna had not known what 
he meant at first. They had been watching the players 
for five minutes without a word between them. 

“ Yes; for you, once — couldn’t walk — yourself.” 

“ Oh-h, yes, I know,” faltered Pollyanna; and she 
knew that her great distress must have shown in her 
face, for so quickly and so blithely did he change the 
subject, after a laughing: 

“ Come, come, Pollyanna, why don’t you tell me to 
play the game? I would if I were in your place. 
Forget it, please. I was a brute to make you look like 
that!” 

And Pollyanna smiled, and said: “ No, no — no, 
indeed! ” But she did not “ forget it.” She could 
not. And it all made her only the more anxious to 
be with Jamie and help him all she could. 

“As if now I’d ever let him see that I was ever any¬ 
thing but glad when he was with me! ” she thought 
fervently, as she hurried forward a minute later to 
take her turn in the game. 

Pollyanna, however, was not the only one in the 
party who felt a new awkwardness and constraint. 
Jimmy Pendleton felt it, though he, too, tried not to 
show it. 

Jimmy was not happy these days. From a care¬ 
free youth whose visions were of wonderful spans 
across hitherto unbridgeable chasms, he has come to 



Jimmy Wakes Up 


237 

be an anxious-eyed young man whose visions were 
of a feared rival bearing away the girl he loved. 

Jimmy knew very well now that he was in love 
with Pollyanna. He suspected that he had been in 
love with her for some time. He stood aghast, in¬ 
deed, to find himself so shaken and powerless before 
this thing that had come to him. He knew that even 
his beloved bridges were as nothing when weighed 
against the smile in a girl’s eyes and the word on a 
girl’s lips. He realized that the most wonderful span 
in the world to him would be the thing that could help 
him to cross the chasm of fear and doubt that he felt 
lay between him and Pollyanna — doubt because of 
Pollyanna; fear because of Jamie, 

Not until he had seen Pollyanna in jeopardy that 
day in the pasture had he realized how empty would 
be the world — his world — without her. Not until 
his wild dash for safety with Pollyanna in his arms 
had he realized how precious she was to him. For a 
moment, indeed, with his arms about her, and hers 
clinging about his neck, he had felt that she was in¬ 
deed his; and even in that supreme moment of dan¬ 
ger he knew the thrill of supreme bliss. Then, a little 
later, he had seen Jamie’s face, and Jamie’s hands. 
To him they could mean but one thing: Jamie, too, 
loved Pollyanna, and Jamie had to stand by, help¬ 
less — “ tied to two sticks.” That was what he had 
said. Jimmy believed that, had he himself been 
obliged to stand by helpless, “ tied to two sticks,” 
while another rescued the girl that he loved, he would 
have looked like that. 



Pollyanna Grows Up 


Jimmy had gone back to camp that day with his 
thoughts in a turmoil of fear and rebellion. He won¬ 
dered if Pollyanna cared for Jamie; that was where 
the fear came in. But even if she did care, a little, 
must he stand aside, weakly, and let Jamie, without a 
struggle, make her learn to care more? That was 
where the rebellion came in. Indeed, no, he would 
not do it, decided Jimmy. It should be a fair fight 
between them. 

Then, all by himself as he was, Jimmy flushed hot 
to the roots of his hair. Would it be a “ fair ” fight? 
Could any fight between him and Jamie be a “ fair ” 
fight? Jimmy felt suddenly as he had felt years be¬ 
fore when, as a lad, he had challenged a new boy to 
a fight for an apple they both claimed, then, at the 
first blow, had discovered that the new boy had a 
crippled arm. He had purposely lost then, of course, 
and had let the crippled boy win. But he told himself 
fiercely now that this case was different. It was no 
apple that was at stake. It was his life’s happiness. 
It might even be Pollyanna’s life’s happiness, too. 
Perhaps she did not care for Jamie at all, but would 
care for her old friend, Jimmy, if he but once showed 
her he wanted her to care. And he would show her. 
He would — 

Once again Jimmy blushed hotly. But he frowned, 
too, angrily: if only he could forget how Jamie had 
looked when he had uttered that moaning “ tied to 
two sticks! ” If only— But what was the use? It 
was not a fair fight, and he knew it. He knew, too, 
right there and then, that his decision would be just 



Jimmy Wakes Up 


239 


what it afterwards proved to be: he would watch and 
wait. He would give Jamie his chance; and if Polly- 
anna showed that she cared, he would take himself 
off and away quite out of their lives; and they should 
never know, either of them, how bitterly he was suf¬ 
fering. He would go back to his bridges — as if any 
bridge, though it led to the moon itself, could com¬ 
pare for a moment with Pollyanna! But he would 
do it. He must do it. 

It was all very fine and heroic, and Jimmy felt 
so exalted he was atingle with something that was 
almost happiness when he finally dropped off to sleep 
that night. But martyrdom in theory and practice 
differs woefully, as would-be martyrs have found out 
from time immemorial. It was all very well to decide 
alone and in the dark that he would give Jamie his 
chance; but it was quite another matter really to do 
it when it involved nothing less than the leaving of 
Pollyanna and Jamie together almost every time he 
saw them. Then, too, he was very much worried at 
Pollyanna’s apparent attitude toward the lame youth. 
It looked very much to Jimmy as if she did indeed 
care for him, so watchful was she of his comfort, so 
apparently eager to be with him. Then, as if to settle 
any possible doubt in Jimmy’s mind, there came the 
day when Sadie Dean had something to say on the 
subject. 

They were all out in the tennis court. Sadie was 
sitting alone when Jimmy strolled up to her. 

“You next with Pollyanna, isn’t it?” he queried. 

She shook her head. 



£40 Pollyanna Grows Up 


“ Pollyanna isn’t playing any more this morning.” 

“Isn’t playing!” frowned Jimmy, who had been 
counting on his own game with Pollyanna. “ Why 
not?” 

For a brief minute Sadie Dean did not answer; 
then with very evident difficulty she said: 

“ Pollyanna told me last night that she thought we 
were playing tennis too much; that it wasn’t kind to 
— Mr. Carew, as long as he can’t play.” 

“ I know; but — ” Jimmy stopped helplessly, the 
frown plowing a deeper furrow into his forehead. 
The next instant he fairly started with surprise at the 
tense something in Sadie Dean’s voice, as she said: 

“ But he doesn’t want her to stop. He doesn’t want 
any one of us to make any difference — for him. It’s 
that that hurts him so. She doesn’t understand. She 
doesn’t understand! But I do. She thinks she does, 
though! ” 

Something in words or manner sent a sudden pang 
to Jimmy’s heart. He threw a sharp look into her 
face. A question flew to his lips. For a moment he 
held it back; then, trying to hide his earnestness with 
a bantering smile, he let it come. 

“ Why, Miss Dean, you don’t mean to convey the 
idea that — that there’s any special interest in each 
other — between those two, do you? ” 

She gave him a scornful glance. 

“ Where have your eyes been ? She worships him! 
I mean — they worship each other,” she corrected 
hastily. 

Jimmy, with an inarticulate ejaculation, turned and 



Jimmy Wakes Up 


241 


walked away abruptly. He could not trust himself 
to remain longer. He did not wish to talk any more, 
just then, to Sadie Dean. So abruptly, indeed, did he 
turn, that he did not notice that Sadie Dean, too, 
turned hurriedly, and busied herself looking in the 
grass at her feet, as if she had lost something. Very 
evidently, Sadie Dean, also, did not wish to talk any 
more just then. 

Jimmy Pendleton told himself that it was not true 
at all; that it was all falderal, what Sadie Dean had 
said. Yet nevertheless, true or not true, he could not 
forget it. It colored all his thoughts thereafter, and 
loomed before his eyes like a shadow whenever he saw 
Pollyanna and Jamie together. He watched their 
faces covertly. He listened to the tones of their 
voices. He came then, in time, to think it was, after 
all, true: that they did worship each other; and his 
heart, in consequence, grew like lead within him. 
True to his promise to himself, however, he turned 
resolutely away. The die was cast, he told himself. 
Pollyanna was not to be for him. 

Restless days for Jimmy followed. To stay away 
from the Harrington homestead entirely he did not 
dare, lest his secret be suspected. To be with Polly¬ 
anna at all now was torture. Even to be with Sadie 
Dean was unpleasant, for he could not forget that it 
was Sadie Dean who had finally opened his eyes. 
Jamie, certainly, was no haven of refuge, under the 
circumstances; and that left only Mrs. Carew. Mrs. 
Carew, however, was a host in herself, and Jimmy 
found his only comfort these days in her society. Gay 



242 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


or grave, she always seemed to know how to fit his 
mood exactly; and it was wonderful how much she 
knew about bridges — the kind of bridges he was go¬ 
ing to build. She was so wise, too, and so sympa¬ 
thetic, knowing always just the right word to say. 
He even one day almost told her about The Packet; 
but John Pendleton interrupted them at just the wrong 
moment, so the story was not told. John Pendleton 
was always interrupting them at just the wrong mo¬ 
ment, Jimmy thought vexedly, sometimes. Then, 
when he remembered what John Pendleton had done 
for him, he was ashamed. 

“ The Packet ” was a thing that dated back to 
Jimmy’s boyhood, and had never been mentioned to 
any one save to John Pendleton, and that only once 
at the time of his adoption. The Packet was nothing 
but rather a large white envelope, worn with time, and 
plump with mystery behind a huge red seal. It had 
been given him by his father, and it bore the following 
instructions in his father’s hand: 

“ To my boy, Jimmy. Not to be opened until his 
thirtieth birthday except in case of his death, when it 
shall be opened at once.” 

There were times when Jimmy speculated a good 
deal as to the contents of that envelope. There were 
other times when he forgot its existence. In the old 
days, at the Orphans’ Home, his chief terror had been 
that it should be discovered and taken away from him. 
In those days he wore it always hidden in the lining 
of his coat. Of late years, at John Pendleton’s sug¬ 
gestion, it had been tucked away in the Pendleton safe. 



Jimmy Wakes Up 


243 


“ For there’s no knowing how valuable it may be,” 
John Pendleton had said, with a smile. “ And, any¬ 
way, your father evidently wanted you to have it, 
and we wouldn’t want to run the risk of losing it.” 

“ No, I wouldn’t want to lose it, of course,” Jimmy 
had smiled back, a little soberly. “ But I’m not count¬ 
ing on its being real valuable, sir. Poor dad didn’t 
have anything that was very valuable about him, as I 
remember.” 

It was this Packet that Jimmy came so near men¬ 
tioning to Mrs. Carew one day, — if only John Pen¬ 
dleton had not interrupted them. 

“ Still, maybe it’s just as well I didn’t tell her about 
it,” Jimmy reflected afterwards, on his way home. 
1 She might have thought dad had something in his 
life that wasn’t quite — right. And I wouldn’t have 
wanted her to think that — of dad.” 



CHAPTER XXV 


THE GAME AND POLLYANNA 

Before the middle of September the Carews and 
Sadie Dean said good-by and went back to Boston. 
Much as she knew she would miss them, Pollyanna 
drew an actual sigh of relief as the train bearing them 
away rolled out of the Beldingsville station. Polly¬ 
anna would not have admitted having this feeling of 
relief to any one else, and even to herself she apolo¬ 
gized in her thoughts. 

“ It isn’t that I don’t love them dearly, every one of 
them,” she sighed, watching the train disappear around 
the curve far down the track. “ It’s only that — that 
I’m so sorry for poor Jamie all the time; and — and 
— I am tired. I shall be glad, for a while, just to go 
back to the old quiet days with Jimmy.” 

Pollyanna, however, did not go back to the old 
quiet days with Jimmy. The days that immediately 
followed the going of the Carews were quiet, cer¬ 
tainly, but they w r ere not passed “ with Jimmy.” 
Jimmy rarely came near the house now, and when he 
did call, he was not the old Jimmy that she used to 
know. He was moody, restless, and silent, or else 
very gay and talkative in a nervous fashion that was 
most puzzling and annoying. Before long, too, he 
244 


The Game and Pollyanna 


245 


himself went to Boston; and then of course she did 
not see him at all. 

Pollyanna was surprised then to see how much she 
missed him. Even to know that he was in town, and 
that there was a chance that he might come over, was 
better than the dreary emptiness of certain absence; 
and even his puzzling moods of alternating gloominess 
and gayety were preferable to this utter silence of 
nothingness. Then, one day, suddenly she pulled her¬ 
self up with hot cheeks and shamed eyes. 

“ Well, Pollyanna Whittier,” she upbraided herself 
sharply, “ one would think you were in love with 
Jimmy Bean Pendleton! Can’t you think of anything 
but him? ” 

Whereupon, forthwith, she bestirred herself to be 
very gay and lively indeed, and to put this Jimmy Bean 
Pendleton out of her thoughts. As it happened, Aunt 
Polly, though unwittingly, helped her to this. 

With the going of the Carews had gone also their 
chief source of immediate income, and Aunt Polly was 
beginning to worry again, audibly, about the state of 
their finances. 

“ I don’t know, really, Pollyanna, what is going to 
become of us,” she would moan frequently. “ Of 
course we are a little ahead now from this summer’s 
work, and we have a small sum from the estate right 
along; but I never know how soon that’s going to 
stop, like all the rest. If only we could do something 
to bring in some ready cash! ” 

It was after one of these moaning lamentations one 
day that Pollyanna’s eyes chanced to fall on a prize- 



246 


Polly anna Grows Up 


story contest offer. It was a most alluring one. The 
prizes were large and numerous. The conditions were 
set forth in glowing terms. To read it, one would 
think that to win out were the easiest thing in the 
world. It contained even a special appeal that might 
have been framed for Pollyanna herself. 

“ This is for you — you who read this/’ it ran. 
“ What if you never have written a story before! 
That is no sign you cannot write one. Try it. That’s 
all. Wouldn’t you like three thousand dollars? Two 
thousand? One thousand? Five hundred, or even 
one hundred? Then why not go after it? ” 

“ The very thing! ” cried Pollyanna, clapping her 
hands. “ I’m so glad I saw it! And it says I can do 
it, too. I thought I could, if I’d just try. I’ll go 
tell auntie, so she needn’t worry any more.” 

Pollyanna was on her feet and half way to the door 
when a second thought brought her steps to a pause. 

“ Come to think of it, I reckon I won’t, after all. 
It’ll be all the nicer to surprise her; and if I should 
get the first one —! ” 

Pollyanna went to sleep that night planning what 
she could do with that three thousand dollars. 

Pollyanna began her story the next day. That is, 
she, with a very important air, got out a quantity of 
paper, sharpened up half-a-dozen pencils, and estab¬ 
lished herself at the big old-fashioned Harrington 
desk in the living-room. After biting restlessly at 
the ends of two of her pencils, she wrote down three 
words on the fair white page before her. Then she 
drew a long sigh, threw aside the second ruined pen- 




The Game and Pollyanna £47 


cil, and picked up a slender green one with a beautiful 
point. This point she eyed with a meditative frown. 

“ O dear! I wonder where they get their titles,” 
she despaired. “ Maybe, though, I ought to decide on 
the story first, and then make a title to fit. Anyhow, 
I'm going to do it.” And forthwith she drew a black 
line through the three words and poised the pencil for 
a fresh start. 

The start was not made at once, however. Even 
when it was made, it must have been a false one, for 
at the end of half an hour the whole page was noth¬ 
ing but a jumble of scratched-out lines, with only a 
few words here and there left to tell the tale. 

At this juncture Aunt Polly came into the room. 
She turned tired eyes upon her niece. 

“ Well, Pollyanna, what are you up to now?” she 
demanded. 

Pollyanna laughed and colored guiltily. 

“ Nothing much, auntie. Anyhow, it doesn’t look 
as if it were much — yet,” she admitted, with a rueful 
smile. “ Besides, it’s a secret, and Pm not going to 
tell it yet.” 

“Very well; suit yourself,” sighed Aunt Polly. 
“ But I can tell you right now that if you’re trying to 
make anything different out of those mortgage papers 
Mr. Hart left, it’s useless. I’ve been all over them 
myself twice.” 

“ No, dear, it isn’t the papers. It’s a whole heap 
nicer than any papers ever could be,” crowed Polly¬ 
anna triumphantly, turning back to her work. In 
Pollyanna’s eyes suddenly had risen a glowing vision 



Pollyanna Grows Up 


248 

of what it might be, with that three thousand dollars 
once hers. 

For still another half-hour Pollyanna wrote and 
scratched, and chewed her pencils; then, with her 
courage dulled, but not destroyed, she gathered up 
her papers and pencils and left the room. 

“ I reckon maybe I'll do better by myself up-stairs/’ 
she was thinking as she hurried through the hall. “ I 
thought I ought to do it at a desk — being literary 
work, so — but anyhow, the desk didn’t help me 
any this morning. I’ll try the window seat in my 
room.” 

The window seat, however, proved to be no more 
inspiring, judging by the scratched and re-scratched 
pages that fell from Pollyanna’s hands; and at the 
end of another half-hour Pollyanna discovered sud¬ 
denly that it was time to get dinner. 

“ Well, I’m glad ’tis, anyhow,” she sighed to her¬ 
self. “ I’d a lot rather get dinner than do this. Not 
but that I want to do this, of course; only I’d no idea 
’twas such an awful job — just a story, so! ” 

During the following month Pollyanna worked 
faithfully, doggedly, but .she soon found that “ just 
a story, so ” was indeed no small matter to accom¬ 
plish. Pollyanna, however, was not one to set her 
hand to the plow and look back. Besides, there was 
that three-thousand-dollar prize, or even any of the 
others, if she should not happen to win the first one! 
Of course even one hundred dollars was something! 
So day after day she wrote and erased, and rewrote, 
until finally the story, such as it was, lay completed 



The Game and Poilyanna 249 


before her. Then, with some misgivings, it must be 
confessed, she took the manuscript to Milly Snow to 
be typewritten. 

“ It reads all right — that is, it makes sense,” 
mused Poilyanna doubtfully, as she hurried along 
toward the Snow cottage; “ and it’s a real nice story 
about a perfectly lovely girl. But there’s something 
somewhere that isn’t quite right about it, I’m afraid. 
Anyhow, I don’t believe I’d better count too much on 
the first prize; then I won’t be too much disappointed 
when I get one of the littler ones.” 

Poilyanna always thought of Jimmy when she went 
to the Snows’, for it was at the side of the road near 
their cottage that she had first seen him as a forlorn 
little runaway lad from the Orphans’ Home years be¬ 
fore. She thought of him again to-day, with a little 
catch of her breath. Then, with the proud lifting of 
her head that always came now with the second 
thought of Jimmy, she hurried up the Snows’ door¬ 
steps and rang the bell. 

As was usually the case, the Snows had nothing but 
the warmest of welcomes for Poilyanna; and also as 
usual it was not long before they were talking of the 
game: in no home in Beldingsville was the glad game 
more ardently played than in the Snows’. 

“ Well, and how are you getting along? ” asked 
Poilyanna, when she had finished the business part 
of her call. 

“ Splendidly! ” beamed Milly Snow. “ This is the 
third job I’ve got this week. Oh, Miss Poilyanna, 
I’m so glad you had me take up typewriting, for you 



250 Polly anna Grows Up 

see I can do that right at home! And it’s all owing to 
you.” 

“ Nonsense!” disclaimed Pollyanna, merrily. 

“ But it is. In the first place, I couldn’t have done 
it anyway if it hadn’t been for the game — making 
mother so much better, you know, that I had some 
time to myself. And then, at the very first, you sug¬ 
gested typewriting, and helped me to buy a machine. 
I should like to know if that doesn’t come pretty near 
owing it all to you! ” 

But once again Pollyanna objected. This time she 
was interrupted by Mrs. Snow from her wheel chair 
by the window. And so earnestly and gravely did 
Mrs. Snow speak, that Pollyanna, in spite of herself, 
could but hear what she had to say. 

“ Listen, child, I don’t think you know quite what 
you’ve done. But I wish you could! There’s a little 
look in your eyes, my dear, to-day, that I don’t like 
to see there. You are plagued and worried over some¬ 
thing, I know. I can see it. And I don’t wonder: 
your uncle’s death, your aunt’s condition, everything 
— I won’t say more about that. But there’s some¬ 
thing I do want to say, my dear, and you must let 
me say it, for I can’t bear to see that shadow in your 
eyes without trying to drive it away by telling you 
what you’ve done for me, for this whole town, and 
for countless other people everywhere.” 

“ Mrs. Snow!” protested Pollyanna, in genuine 
distress. 

“Oh, I mean it, and I know what I’m talking 
about,” nodded the invalid, triumphantly. “ Ttt be- 



The Game and Foilyanna 


25 1 


gin with, look at me. Didn’t you find me a fretful, 
whining creature who never by any chance wanted 
what she had until she found what she didn’t have? 
And didn’t you open my eyes by bringing me three 
kinds of things so I’d have to have what I wanted, for 
once ? ” 

“ Oh, Mrs. Snow, was I really ever quite so — im¬ 
pertinent as that ? ” murmured Pollyanna, with a pain¬ 
ful blush. 

“ It wasn’t impertinent,” objected Mrs. Snow, 
stoutly. “You didn’t mean it as impertinence — and 
that made all the difference in the world. You didn’t 
preach, either, my dear. If you had, you’d never have 
got me to playing the game, nor anybody else, I 
fancy. But you did get me to playing it — and see 
what it’s done for me, and for Milly! Here I am so 
much better that I can sit in a wheel chair and go 
anywhere on this floor in it. That means a whole 
lot when it comes to waiting on yourself, and giving 
those around you a chance to breathe — meaning 
Milly, in this case. And the doctor says it’s all owing 
to the game. Then there’s others, quantities of 
others, right in this town, that I’m hearing of all the 
time. Nellie Mahoney broke her wrist and was so 
glad it wasn’t her leg that she didn’t mind the wrist 
at all. Old Mrs. Tibbits has lost her hearing, but 
she’s so glad ’tisn’t her eyesight that she’s actually 
happy. Do you remember cross-eyed Joe that they 
used to call Cross Joe, because of his temper? Noth¬ 
ing went to suit him either, any more than it did me. 
Well, somebody’s taught him the game, they say, and 



252 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


made a different man of him. And listen, dear. It’s 
not only this town, but other places. I had a letter 
yesterday from my cousin in Massachusetts, and she 
told me all about Mrs. Tom Payson that used to live 
here. Do you remember them? They lived on the 
way up Pendleton Hill.” 

“ Yes, oh, yes, I remember them,” cried Pollyanna. 

“ Well, they left here that winter you were in the 
Sanatorium and went to Massachusetts where my 
sister lives. She knows them well. She says Mrs. 
Payson told her all about you, and how your glad 
game actually saved them from a divorce. And now 
not only do they play it themselves, but they’ve got 
quite a lot of others playing'it down there, and they're 
getting still others. So you see, dear, there’s no tell¬ 
ing where that glad game of yours is going to stop. 
I wanted you to know. I thought it might help — 
even you to play the game sometimes; for don’t think 
I don’t understand, dearie, that it is hard for you to 
play your own game — sometimes.” 

Pollyanna rose to her feet. She smiled, but her 
eyes glistened with tears, as she held out her hand in 
good-by. 

“ Thank you, Mrs. Snow,” she said unsteadily. “ It 
is hard — sometimes; and maybe I did need a little 
help about my own game. But, anyhow, now — ” 
her eyes flashed with their old merriment — “ if any 
time I think I can’t play the game myself I can remem¬ 
ber that I can still always be glad there are some folks 
playing it! ” 

Pollyanna walked home a little soberly that after- 



The Game and Pollyanna 


253 


noon. Touched as she was by what Mrs. Snow had 
said, there was yet an undercurrent of sadness in it 
all. She was thinking of Aunt Polly — Aunt Polly 
who played the game now so seldom; and she was 
wondering if she herself always played it, when she 
might. 

“ Maybe I haven’t been careful, always, to hunt up 
the glad side of the things Aunt Polly says,” she 
thought with undefined guiltiness; “and maybe if I 
played the game better myself, Aunt Polly would play 
it — a little. Anyhow Pm going to try. If I don’t 
look out, all these other people will be playing my 
own game better than I am myself! ” 




CHAPTER XXVI 


JOHN PENDLETON 

It was just a week before Christmas that Pollyanna 
sent her story (now neatly typewritten) in for the 
contest. The prize-winners would not be announced 
until April, the magazine notice said, so Pollyanna 
settled herself for the long wait with characteristic, 
philosophical patience. 

“ I don’t know, anyhow, but I’m glad ’tis so long,” 
she told herself, “ for all winter I can have the fun 
of thinking it may be the first one instead of one of 
the others, that I’ll get. I might just as well think 
I’m going to get it, then if I do get it, I won’t 
have been unhappy any. While if I don’t get it — I 
won’t have had all these weeks of unhappiness before¬ 
hand, anyway; and I can be glad for one of the 
smaller ones, then.” That she might not get any 
prize was not in Pollyanna’s calculations at all. The 
story 4 so beautifully typed by Milly Snow, looked al¬ 
most as good as printed already — to Pollyanna. 

Christmas was not a happy time at the Harrington 
homestead that year, in spite of Pollyanna’s strenuous 
efforts to make it so. Aunt Polly refused absolutely 
to allow any sort of celebration of the day, and made 
her attitude so unmistakably plain that Pollyanna 
could not give even the simplest of presents, 

254 


John Pendleton 


255 


Christmas evening John Pendleton called. Mrs. 
Chilton excused herself, but Pollyanna, utterly worn 
out from a long day with her aunt, welcomed him 
joyously. But even here she found a fly in the amber 
of her content; for John Pendleton had brought with 
him a letter from Jimmy, and the letter was full of 
nothing but the plans he and Mrs. Carew were ma¬ 
king for a wonderful Christmas celebration at the 
Home for Working Girls: and Pollyanna, ashamed 
though she was to own it to herself, was not in a 
mood to hear about Christmas celebrations just then 
— least of all, Jimmy’s. 

John Pendleton, however, was not ready to let the 
subject drop, even when the letter had been read. 

“ Great doings — those! ” he exclaimed, as he 
folded the letter. 

“ Yes, indeed; fine!” murmured Pollyanna, trying 
to speak with due enthusiasm. 

“ And it’s to-night, too, isn’t it? I’d like to drop in 
on them about now.” 

“ Yes,” murmured Pollyanna again, with still more 
careful enthusiasm. 

“ Mrs. Carew knew what she was about when she 
got Jimmy to help her, I fancy,” chuckled the man. 
“ But I’m wondering how Jimmy likes it — playing 
Santa Claus to half a hundred young women at once! ” 

“ Why, he finds it delightful, of course! ” Polly¬ 
anna lifted her chin ever so slightly. 

“ Maybe. Still, it’s a little different from learning 
to build bridges, you must confess.” 

“ Oh, yes.” 



256 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


“ But I’ll risk Jimmy, and I’ll risk wagering that 
those girls never had a better time than he’ll give them 
to-night, too.” 

“ Y-yes, of course,” stammered Pollyanna, trying 
to keep ’the hated tremulousness out of her voice, and 
trying very hard not to compare her own dreary eve¬ 
ning in Beldingsville with nobody but John Pendle¬ 
ton to that of those fifty girls in Boston — with 
Jimmy. 

There was a brief pause, during which John Pen¬ 
dleton gazed dreamily at the dancing fire on the 
hearth. 

“ She’s a wonderful woman — Mrs. Carew is,” he 
said at last. 

“She is, indeed!” This time the enthusiasm in 
Pollyanna’s voice was all pure gold. 

“ Jimmy’s written me before something of what 
she’s done for those girls,” went on the man, still 
gazing into the fire. “ In just the last letter before 
this he wrote a lot about it, and about her. He said 
he always admired her, but never so much as now, 
when he can see what she really is.” 

“ She’s a dear — that’s what Mrs. Carew is,” de¬ 
clared Pollyanna, warmly. “ She’s a dear in every 
way, and I love her.” 

John Pendleton stirred suddenly. He turned to 
Pollyanna with an oddly whimsical look in his eyes. 

“ I know you do, my dear. For that matter, there 
may be others, too — that love her.” 

Pollyanna’s heart skipped a beat. A sudden thought 
came to her with stunning, blinding force. Jimmy! 



John Pendleton 


£57 


Could John Pendleton be meaning that Jimmy cared 
that way — for Mrs. Carew ? 

“You mean—?” she faltered. She could not 
finish. 

With a nervous twitch peculiar to him, John Pen¬ 
dleton got to his feet. 

“ I mean — the girls, of course,” he answered 
lightly, still with that whimsical smile. “ Don’t you 
suppose those fifty girls — love her ’most to death? ” 

Pollyanna said “ yes, of course,” and murmured 
something else appropriate, in answer to John Pendle¬ 
ton’s next remark. But her thoughts were in a tumult, 
and she let the man do most of the talking for the rest 
of the evening. 

Nor did John Pendleton seem averse to this. Rest¬ 
lessly he took a turn or two about the room, then sat 
down in his old place. And when he spoke, it was on 
his old subject, Mrs. Carew. 

“Queer — about that Jamie of hers, isn’t it? I 
wonder if he is her nephew.” 

As Pollyanna did not answer, the man went on, 
after a moment’s silence. 

“ He’s a fine fellow, anyway. I like him. There’s 
something fine and genuine about him. She’s bound 
up in him. That’s plain to be seen, whether he’s really 
her kin or not.” 

There was another pause, then, in a slightly altered 
voice, John Pendleton said: 

“ Still it’s queer, too, when you come to think of it, 
that she never — married again. She is certainly now 
— a very beautiful woman. Don’t you think so?” 



258 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


u Yes — yes, indeed she is,” plunged in Pollyanna, 
with precipitate haste; “ a — a very beautiful woman.” 

There was a little break at the last in Pollyanna’s 
voice. Pollyanna, just then, had caught sight of her 
own face in the mirror opposite — and Pollyanna to 
herself was never “ a very beautiful woman.” 

On and on rambled John Pendleton, musingly, con¬ 
tentedly, his eyes on the fire. Whether he was an¬ 
swered or not seemed not to disturb him. Whether 
he was even listened to or not, he seemed hardly to 
know. He wanted, apparently, only to talk; but at 
last he got to his feet reluctantly and said good-night. 

For a weary half-hour Pollyanna had been long¬ 
ing for him to go, that she might be alone; but after 
he had gone she wished he were back. She had found 
suddenly that she did not want to be alone — with 
her thoughts. 

It was wonderfully clear to Pollyanna now. There 
was no doubt of it. Jimmy cared for Mrs. Carew. 
That was why he was so moody and restless after she 
left. That was why4ie had come so seldom to see 
her, Pollyanna, his old friend. That was why — 

Countless little circumstances of the past summer 
flocked to Pollyanna^s memory now, mute witnesses 
that would not be denied. 

And why should he not care for her? Mrs. Carew 
was certainly beautiful and charming. True, she was 
older than Jimmy; but young men had married 
women far older than she, many times. And if they 
loved each other — 

Pollyanna cried herself to sleep that night. 





John Pendleton 


259 


In the morning, bravely she tried to face the thing. 
She even tried, with a tearful smile, to put it to the 
test of the glad game. She was reminded then of 
something Nancy had said to her years before: “If 
there is a set o’ folks in the world that wouldn’t have 
no use for that ’ere glad game o’ your’n, it’d be a pair 
o’ quarrellin’ lovers! ” 

“ Not that we’re ‘ quarrelling,’ or even 4 lovers,’ ” 
thought Pollyanna blushingly; “but just the same I 
can be glad he's glad, and glad she's glad, too, 
only — ” Even to herself Pollyanna could not finish 
this sentence. 

Being so sure now that Jimmy and Mrs. Carew 
cared for each other, Pollyanna became peculiarly 
•sensitive to everything that tended to strengthen that 
belief. And being ever on the watch for it, she found 
it, as was to be expected. First in Mrs. Carew’s let¬ 
ters. 

“ I am seeing a lot of your friend, young Pendle¬ 
ton,” Mrs. Carew wrote one day; “and I’m liking 
him more and more. I do wish, however — just for 
curiosity’s sake — that I could trace to its source that 
elusive feeling that I’ve seen him before somewhere.” 

Frequently, after this, she mentioned him casually; 
and, to Pollyanna, in the very casualness of thest* 
references lay their sharpest sting; for it showed so 
unmistakably that Jimmy and Jimmy’s presence were 
now to Mrs. Carew a matter of course. From other 
sources, too, Pollyanna found fuel for the fire of her 
suspicions. More and more frequently John Pendle¬ 
ton “ dropped in h with his stories of Jimmy, and of 



260 


PoUyanna Grows Up 


what Jimmy was doing; and alwa}^s here there was 
mention of Mrs. Carew. Poor Pollyanna wondered, 
indeed, sometimes, if John Pendleton could not talk 
of anything but Mrs. Carew and Jimmy, so constantly 
was one 6r the other of those names on his lips. 

There were Sadie Dean’s letters, too, and they told 
of Jimmy, and of what he was doing to help Mrs. 
Carew. Even Jamie, who wrote occasionally, had his 
mite to add, for he wrote one evening: 

“ It’s ten o’clock. I’m sitting here alone waiting 
for Mrs. Carew to come home. She and Pendleton 
have been to one of their usual socials down to the 
Home.” 

From Jimmy himself Pollyanna heard very rarely; 
and for that she told herself mournfully that she could 
be glad. 

“ For if he can’t write about anything but Mrs. 
Carew and those girls, I’m glad he doesn’t write very 
often! ” she sighed. 



CHAPTER XXVII 


THE DAY POLLYANNA DID NOT PLAY 

And so one by one the winter days passed. Janu¬ 
ary and February slipped away in snow and sleet, 
and March came in with a gale that whistled and 
moaned around the old house, and set loose blinds to 
swinging and loose gates to creaking in a way that 
was most trying to nerves already stretched to the 
breaking point. 

Pollyanna was not finding it very easy these days 
to play the game, but she was playing it faithfully, 
valiantly. Aunt Polly was not playing it at all — 
which certainly did not make it any the easier for 
Pollyanna to play it. Aunt Polly was blue and dis¬ 
couraged. She was not well, too, and she had plainly 
abandoned herself to utter gloom. 

Pollyanna still was counting on the prize contest. 
She had dropped from the first prize to one of the 
smaller ones, however: Pollyanna had been writing 
more stories, and the regularity with which they came 
back from their pilgrimages to magazine editors was 
beginning to shake her faith in her success as an 
author. 

“ Oh, well, I can be glad that Aunt Polly doesn’t 
know anything about it, anyway,” declared Pollyanna 
to herself bravely, as she twisted in her fingers the 
261 


262 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


“ declined-with-thanks ” slip that had just towed in 
one more shipwrecked story. “ She can't worry about 
this — she doesn’t know about it! ” 

All of Pollyanna’s life these days revolved around 
Aunt Polly, and it is doubtful if even Aunt Polly 
herself realized how exacting she had become, and 
how entirely her niece was giving up her life to her. 

It was on a particularly gloomy day in March that 
matters came, in a way, to a climax. Pollyanna, upon 
arising, had looked at the sky with a sigh — Aunt 
Polly was always more difficult on cloudy days. With 
a gay little song, however, that still sounded a bit 
forced — Pollyanna descended to the kitchen and be¬ 
gan to prepare breakfast. 

“ I reckon I’ll make corn muffins,” she told the 
stove confidentially; “then maybe Aunt Polly won’t 
mind — other things so much.” 

Half an hour later she tapped at her aunt’s door. 

“ Up so soon ? Oh, that’s fine! And you’ve done 
your hair yourself! ” 

“ I couldn’t sleep. I had to get up,” sighed Aunt 
Polly, wearily. “ I had to do my hair, too. You 
weren’t here.” 

“ But I didn’t suppose you were ready for me, 
auntie,” explained Pollyanna, hurriedly. “ Never 
mind, though. You’ll be glad I wasn’t when you find 
what I’ve been doing.” 

“Well, I sha’n’t — not this morning,” frowned 
Aunt Polly, perversely. “ Nobody could be glad this 
morning. Look at it rain! That makes the third 
rainy day this week.” 



The Day Pollyanna Did Not Play £63 


“ That’s so — but you know the sun never seems 
quite so perfectly lovely as it does after a lot of rain 
like this,” smiled Pollyanna, deftly arranging a bit of 
lace and ribbon at her aunt’s throat. “Now come. 
Breakfast’s all ready. Just you wait till you see what 
I’ve got for you.” 

Aunt Polly, however, was not to be diverted, even 
by corn muffins, this morning. Nothing was right, 
nothing was even endurable, as she felt; and Polly- 
anna’s patience was sorely taxed before the meal was 
over. To make matters worse, the roof over the east 
attic window was found to be leaking, and an un¬ 
pleasant letter came in the mail. Pollyanna, true to 
her creed, laughingly declared that, for her part, she 
was glad they had a roof^— to leak; and that, as for 
the letter, she’d been expecting it for a week, any¬ 
way, and she was actually glad she wouldn’t have to 
worry any more for fear it would come. It couldn't 
come now, because it had come; and ’twas over with. 

All this, together with sundry other hindrances and 
annoyances, delayed the usual morning work until far 
into the afternoon — something that was always par¬ 
ticularly displeasing to methodical Aunt Polly, who 
ordered her own life, preferably, by the tick of the 
clock. 

“ But it’s half-past three, Pollyanna, already! Did 
you know it? ” she fretted at last. “ And you haven’t 
made the beds yet.” 

“ No, dearie, but I will. Don’t worry.” 

“ But, did you hear what I said ? Look at the 
clock, child. It’s after three o’clock! ” 




264 


Polly anna Grows Up 


“ So ’tis, but never mind, Aunt Polly. We can be 
glad ’tisn’t after four. ,, 

Aunt Polly sniffed her disdain. 

“ I suppose you can,” she observed tartly. 

Pollyanna laughed. 

“ Well, you see, auntie, clocks are accommodating 
things, when you stop to think about it. I found that 
out long ago at the Sanatorium. When I was doing 
something that I liked, and I didn’t want the time to 
go fast, I’d just look at the hour hand, and I’d feel 
as if I had lots of time — it went so slow. Then, 
other days, when I had to keep something that hurt 
on for an hour, maybe, I’d watch the little second 
hand; and you see then I felt as if Old Time was just 
humping himself to help me out by going as fast as 
ever he could. Now I’m watching the hour hand 
to-day, ’cause I don’t want Time to go fast. See?” 
she twinkled mischievously, as she hurried from the 
room, before Aunt Polly had time to answer. 

It was certainly a hard day, and by night Pollyanna 
looked pale and worn out. This, too, was a source 
of worriment to Aunt Polly. 

“ Dear me, child, you look tired to death! ” she 
fumed. “ What we’re going to do I don’t know. I 
suppose you'll be sick next! ” 

“Nonsense, auntie! I’m not sick a bit,” declared 
Pollyanna, dropping herself with a sigh on to the 
couch. “ But I am tired. My! how good this couch 
feels! I’m glad I’m tired, after all — it’s so nice to 
rest.” 

Aunt Polly turned with an impatient gesture. 




The Day Pollyanna Did Not Play 265 


“ Glad — glad — glad! Of course you’re glad, 
Pollyanna. You’re always glad for everything. I 
never saw such a girl. Oh, yes, I know it’s the 
game,” she went on, in answer to the look that came 
to Pollyanna’s face. “ And it’s a very good game, 
too; but I think you carry it altogether too far. This 
eternal doctrine of ‘ it might be worse ’ has got on my 
nerves, Pollyanna. Honestly, it would be a real relief 
if you wouldn't be glad for something, sometime! ” 

“ Why, auntie! ” Pollyanna pulled herself half 
erect. 

“ Well, it would. You just try it sometime, and 
see.” 

“ But, auntie, I — ” Pollyanna stopped and eyed 
her aunt reflectively. An odd look came to her eyes; 
a slow smile curved her lips. Mrs. Chilton, who had. 
turned back to her work, paid no heed; and, after a 
minute, Pollyanna lay back on the couch without 
finishing her sentence, the curious smile still on her 
lips. 

It was raining again when Pollyanna got up the 
next morning, and a northeast wind was still whistling 
down the chimney. Pollyanna at the window drew 
an involuntary sigh; but almost at once her face 
changed. 

“ Oh, well, I’m glad — ” She clapped her hands 
to her lips. “ Dear me,” she chuckled softly, her 
eyes dancing, “ I shall forget — I know I shall; and 
that’ll spoil it all! I must just remember not to be 
glad for anything — not anything to-day.” 

Pollyanna did not make corn muffins that morning. 



266 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


She started the breakfast, then went to her aunt’s 
room. 

Mrs. Chilton was still in bed. 

“ I see it rains, as usual,” she observed, by way of 
greeting. 

“ Yes, it’s horrid — perfectly horrid,” scolded Pol¬ 
lyanna. “ It’s rained ’most every day this week, too. 
I hate such weather.” 

Aunt Polly turned with a faint surprise in her eyes; 
but Pollyanna was looking the other way. 

“ Are you going to get up now? ” she asked a little 
wearily. 

“ Why, y-yes,” murmured Aunt Polly, still with 
that faint surprise in her eyes. “ What’s the matter, 
Pollyanna? Are you especially tired?” 

“ Yes, I am tired this morning. I didn’t sleep well, 
either. I hate not to sleep. Things always plague so 
in the night, when you wake up.” 

“ I guess I know that,” fretted Aunt Polly. “ I 
didn’t sleep a wink after two o’clock myself. And 
there’s that roof! How are we going to have it 
fixed, pray, if it never stops raining? Have you been 
up to empty the pans ? ” 

“ Oh, yes — and took up some more. There’s a 
new leak now, further over.” 

“ A new one! Why, it’ll all be leaking yet! ” 

Pollyanna opened her lips. She had almost said, 
“ Well, we can be glad to have it fixed all at once, 
then,” when she suddenly remembered, and substi¬ 
tuted, in a tired voice: 

^ Very likely it will, auntie. It looks like it now t 



The Day Pollyanna Did Not Play £67 


fast enough. Anyway, it’s made fuss enough for a 
whole roof already, and I’m sick of it! ” With which 
statement, Pollyanna, her face carefully averted, 
turned and trailed listlessly out of the room. 

“ It’s so funny and so — so hard, I’m afraid I’m 
making a mess of it,” she whispered to herself anx¬ 
iously, as she hurried down-stairs to the kitchen. 

Behind her, Aunt Polly, in the bedroom, gazed after 
her with eyes that were again faintly puzzled. 

Aunt Polly had occasion a good many times before 
six o’clock that night to gaze at Pollyanna with sur¬ 
prised and questioning eyes. Nothing was right with 
Pollyanna. The fire would not burn, the wind blew 
one particular blind loose three times, and still a third 
leak was discovered in the roof. The mail brought to 
Pollyanna a letter that made her cry (though no 
amount of questioning on Aunt Polly’s part would 
persuade her to tell why). Even the dinner went 
wrong, and innumerable things happened in the after¬ 
noon to call out fretful, discouraged remarks. 

Not until the day was more than half gone did a 
look of shrewd suspicion suddenly fight for supremacy 
with the puzzled questioning in Aunt Polly’s eyes. If 
Pollyanna saw this she made no sign. Certainly there 
was no abatement in her fretfulness and discontent. 
Long before six o’clock, however, the suspicion in 
Aunt Polly’s eyes became conviction, and drove to 
ignominious defeat the puzzled questioning. But, curi¬ 
ously enough then, a new look came to take its place, 
a look that was actually a twinkle of amusement. 

At last, after a particularly doleful complaint on 




268 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


Pollyanna’s part, Aunt Polly threw up her hands with 
a gesture of half-laughing despair. 

“ That’ll do, that’ll do, child! I’ll give up. I’ll 
confess myself beaten at my own game. You can be 
—• glad for that, if you like,” she finished with a grim 
smile. 

“ I know, auntie, but you said — ” began Polly¬ 
anna demurely. 

“ Yes, yes, but I never will again,” interrupted 
Aunt Polly, with emphasis. “ Mercy, what a day this 
has been! I never want to live through another like 
it.” She hesitated, flushed a little, then went on with 
evident difficulty: “ Furthermore, I — I want you to 
know that — that I understand I haven’t played the 
game myself — very well, lately; but, after this, I’m 
going to — to try— Where's my handkerchief?” 
she finished sharply, fumbling in the folds of her dress. 

Pollyanna sprang to her feet and crossed instantly 
to her aunt’s side. 

“ Oh, but Aunt Polly, I didn’t mean — It was just 
a — a joke,” she quavered in quick distress. “ I never 
thought of your taking it that way.” 

‘‘Of course you didn’t,” snapped Aunt Polly, with 
all the asperity of a stern, repressed woman who ab¬ 
hors scenes and sentiment, and who is mortally afraid 
she will show that her heart has been touched. 
“ Don’t you suppose I know you didn’t mean it that 
way? Do you think, if I thought you had been trying 
to teach me a lesson that I’d — I’d — ” But Polly¬ 
anna’s strong young arms had her in a close embrace, 
and she could not finish the sentence. 



CHAPTER XXVIII 


JIMMY AND JAMIE 

Pollyanna was not the only one that was finding 
that winter a hard one. In Boston Jimmy Pendleton, 
in spite of his strenuous efforts to occupy his time 
and thoughts, was discovering that nothing quite 
erased from his vision a certain pair of laughing blue 
eyes, and nothing quite obliterated from his memory a 
certain well-loved, merry voice. 

Jimmy told himself that if it were not for Mrs. 
Carew, and the fact that he could be of some use to 
her, life would not be worth the living. Even at Mrs. 
Carew’s it was not all joy, for always there was Jamie; 
and Jamie brought thoughts of Pollyanna — unhappy 
thoughts. 

Being thoroughly convinced that Jamie and Polly¬ 
anna cared for each other, and also being equally con¬ 
vinced that he himself was in honor bound to step one 
side and give the handicapped Jamie full right of way, 
it never occurred to him to question further. Of Pol¬ 
lyanna he did not like to # talk or to hear. He knew 
that both Jamie and Mrs. Carew heard from her; and 
when they spoke of her, he forced himself to listen, 
in spite of his heartache. But he always changed the 
subject as soon as possible, and he limited his own 
letters to her to the briefest and most infrequent 
269 


270 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


epistles possible. For, to Jimmy, a Pollyanna that 
was not his was nothing but a source of pain and 
wretchedness; and he had been so glad when the 
time came for him to leave Beldingsville and take up 
his studies again in Boston: to be so near Pollyanna, 
and yet so far from her, he had found to be nothing 
but torture. 

In Boston, with all the feverishness of a restless 
mind that seeks distraction from itself, he had thrown 
himself into the carrying out of Mrs. Carew’s plans 
for her beloved working girls, and such time as could 
be spared from his own duties he had devoted to this 
work, much to Mrs. Carew’s delight and gratitude. 

And so for Jimmy the winter had passed and spring 
had come — a joyous, blossoming spring full of soft 
breezes, gentle showers, and tender green buds ex¬ 
panding into riotous bloom and fragrance. To Jimmy, 
however, it was anything but a joyous spring, for in 
his heart was still nothing but a gloomy winter of 
discontent. 

“If only they’d settle things and announce the en¬ 
gagement, once for all,” murmured Jimmy to himself, 
more and more frequently these days. “If only I 
could know something for sure, I think I could stand 
it better! ” 

Then one day late in April, he had his wish — a 
part of it: he learned “ something for sure.” 

It was ten o’clock on a Saturday morning, and 
Mary, at Mrs. Carew’s, had ushered him into the 
music-room with a well-trained: “ I’ll tell Mrs. Carew 
you’re here, sir. She’s expecting you, I think,” 





Jimmy and Jamie 


271 


In the music-room Jimmy had found himself 
brought to a dismayed halt by the sight of Jamie at 
the piano, his arms outflung upon the rack, and his 
head bowed upon them. Pendleton had half turned 
to beat a soft retreat when the man at the piano lifted 
his head, bringing into view two flushed cheeks and 
a pair of fever-bright eyes. 

“ Why, Carew,” stammered Pendleton, aghast, 
“ has anything — er — happened ? ” 

“ Happened! Happened!” ejaculated the lame 
youth, flinging out both his hands, in each of which, 
as Pendleton now saw, was an open letter. “ Every¬ 
thing has happened! Wouldn’t you think it had if all 
your life you’d been in prison, and suddenly you saiw 
the gates flung wide open? Wouldn’t you think it 
had if all in a minute you could ask the girl you loved 
to be your wife? Wouldn’t you think it had if — 
But, listen! You think I’m crazy, but I’m not. 
Though maybe I am, after all, crazy with joy. I’d 
like to tell you. May I ? I’ve got to tell somebody! ” 

Pendleton lifted his head. It was as if, uncon¬ 
sciously, he was bracing himself for a blow. He had 
grown a little white; but his voice was quite steady 
when he answered. 

“ Sure you may, old fellow. I’d be — glad to hear 
it.” 

Carew, however, had scarcely waited for assent. 
He was rushing on, still a bit incoherently. 

“ It’s not much to you, of course. You have two 
feet and your freedom. You have your ambitions 
and your bridges. But I — to me it’s everything. It’s 



272 


Follyanna Grows Up 


a chance to live a man’s life and do a man’s work, per¬ 
haps— even if it isn’t dams and bridges. It’s some¬ 
thing!— and it’s something I’ve proved now I can 
do! Listen. In that letter there is the announcement 
that a little story of mine has won the first prize — 
$3,000, in a contest. In that other letter there, a big 
publishing house accepts with flattering enthusiasm 
my first book manuscript for publication. And they 
both came to-day — this morning. Do you wonder I 
am crazy glad ? ” 

“ No! No, indeed! I congratulate you, Carew, 
with all my heart,” cried Jimmy, warmly. 

“ Thank you — and you may congratulate me. 
Think what it means to me. Think what it means if, 
by and by, I can be independent, like a man. Think 
what it means if I can, some day, make Mrs. Carew 
proud and glad that she gave the crippled lad a place 
in her home and heart. Think what it means for me 
to be able to tell the girl I love that I do love her.” 

“ Yes — yes, indeed, old boy! ” Jimmy spoke firmly, 
though he had grown very white now. 

“ Of course, maybe I ought not to do that last, even 
now,” resumed Jamie, a swift cloud shadowing the 
shining brightness of his countenance. “ I’m still tied 
to — these.” He tapped the crutches by his side. “ I 
can’t forget, of course, that day in the woods last 
summer, when I saw Pollyanna— I realize that al¬ 
ways I’ll have to run the chance of seeing the girl I 
love in danger, and not being able to rescue her.” 

“ Oh, but Carew — ” began the other huskily. 

Carew lifted a peremptory hand. 



Jimmy and Jamie 


273 


“ I know what you’d say. But don’t say it. You 
can’t understand. Yon aren’t tied to two sticks. You 
did the rescuing, not I. It came to me then how it 
would be, always, with me and — Sadie. I’d have to 
stand aside and see others — ” 

“Sadie!” cut in Jimmy, sharply. 

“Yes; Sadie Dean. You act surprised. Didn’t 
you know ? Haven’t you suspected — how I felt 
toward Sadie?” cried Jamie. “Have I kept it so 
well to myself, then? I tried to, but — ” He finished 
with a faint smile and a half-despairing gesture. 

“ Well, you certainly kept it all right, old fellow — 
from me, anyhow,” cried Jimmy, gayly. The color 
had come back to Jimmy’s face in a rich flood, and 
his eyes had grown suddenly very bright indeed. “ So 
it’s Sadie Dean. Good! I congratulate you again, 
I do, I do, as Nancy says.” Jimmy was quite bab¬ 
bling with joy and excitement now, so great and won¬ 
derful had been the reaction within him at the discov¬ 
ery that it was Sadie, not Pollyanna, whom Jamie 
loved. Jamie flushed and shook his head a bit sadly. 

“No congratulations — yet. You see, I haven’t 
spoken to — her. But I think she must know. I 
supposed everybody knew. Pray, whom did you 
think it was, if not — Sadie? ” 

Jimmy hesitated. Then, a little precipitately, he let 
it out. 

“ Why, I'd thought of — Pollyanna.” 

Jamie smiled and pursed his lips. 

“ Pollyanna’s a charming girl, and I love her — 
but not that way, any more than she does me. Be- 



274 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


sides, I fancy somebody else would have something to 
say about that; eh ? ” 

Jimmy colored liked a happy, conscious boy. 

“ Do you ? ” he challenged, trying to make his voice 
properly impersonal. 

“Of course! John Pendleton.” 

“John Pendleton! ” Jimmy wheeled sharply. 

“What about John Pendleton?” queried a new 
voice; and Mrs. Carew came forward with a smile. 

Jimmy, around whose ears for the second time 
within five minutes the world had crashed into frag¬ 
ments, barely collected himself enough for a low 
word of greeting. But Jamie, unabashed, turned with 
a triumphant air of assurance. 

“ Nothing; only I just said that I believed John 
Pendleton would have something to say about Polly- 
anna’s loving anybody — but him.” 

“ Pollyanna! John Pendleton! ” Mrs. Carew sat 
down suddenly in the chair nearest her. If the two 
men before her had not been so deeply absorbed in 
their own affairs they might have noticed that the 
smile had vanished from Mrs. Carew’s lips, and that 
an odd look as of almost fear had come to her eyes. 

“Certainly,” maintained Jamie. “Were you both 
blind last summer? Wasn’t he with her a lot? ” 

“ Why, I thought he was with — all of us,” mur¬ 
mured Mrs. Carew, a little faintly. 

“ Not as he was with Pollyanna,” insisted Jamie. 
“ Besides, have you forgotten that day when we were 
talking about John Pendleton’s marrying, and Polly¬ 
anna blushed and stammered and said finally that he 



Jimmy and Jamie 


275 


had thought of marrying — once. Well, I wondered 
then if there wasn’t something between them. Don’t 
you remember ? ” 

“ Y-yes, I think I do — now that you speak of it,” 
murmured Mrs. Carew again. “ But I had — for¬ 
gotten it.” 

“ Oh, but I can explain that,” cut in Jimmy, wetting 
his dry lips. “ John Pendleton did have a love affair 
once, but it was with Pollyanna’s mother.” 

“ Pollyanna’s mother! ” exclaimed two voices in 
surprise. 

“ Yes. He loved her years ago, but she did not care 
for him at all, I understand. She had another lover 
— a minister, and she married him instead — Polly¬ 
anna’s father.” 

“ Oh-h! ” breathed Mrs. Carew, leaning forward 
suddenly in her chair. “ And is that why he’s — 
never married ? ” 

“ Yes,” avouched Jimmy. “ So you see there’s 
really nothing to that idea at all — that he cares for 
Pollyanna. It was her mother.” 

“ On the contrary I think it makes a whole lot to 
that idea,” declared Jamie, wagging his head wisely. 
“ I think it makes my case all the stronger. Listen. 
He once loved the mother. He couldn’t have her. 
What more absolutely natural than that he should 
love the daughter now — and win her ? ” 

“ Oh, Jamie, you incorrigible spinner of tales! ” re¬ 
proached Mrs. Carew, with a nervous laugh. “ This 
is no ten-penny novel. It’s real life. She’s too young 
for him. He ought to marry a woman, not a girl — 



276 


FoUyanna Grows Up 


that is, if he marries any one, I mean,” she stammer¬ 
ingly corrected, a sudden flood of color in her face. 

“ Perhaps; but what if it happens to be a girl that 
he loves?” argued Jamie, stubbornly. “ And, really, 
just stop to think. Have we had a single letter from 
her that hasn’t told of his being there? And you 
know how he's always talking of Polfyanna in his 
letters.” 

Mrs. Carew got suddenly to her feet. 

“ Yes, I know,” she murmured, with an odd little 
gesture, as if throwing something distasteful aside. 
“ But — ” She did not finish her sentence, and a 
moment later she had left the room. 

When she came back in five minutes she found, 
much to her surprise, that Jimmy had gone. 

“ Why, I thought he was going with us on the 
girls’ picnic! ” she exclaimed. 

“ So did I,” frowned Jamie. “ But the first thing 
I knew he was explaining or apologizing or something 
about unexpectedly having to leave town, and he’d 
come to tell you he couldn’t go with us. Anyhow, the 
next thing I knew he’d gone. You see,” — Jamie’s 
eyes were glowing again — “ I don’t think I knew 
quite what he did say, anyway. I had something else 
to think of.” And he jubilantly spread before her the 
two letters which all the time he had still kept in his 
hands. 

“ Oh, Jamie! ” breathed Mrs. Carew, when she had 
read the letters through. “ How proud I am of you! ” 
Then suddenly her eyes filled with tears at the look of 
ineffable joy that illumined Jamie’s face. 








CHAPTER XXIX 


JIMMY AND JOHN 

It was a very determined, square-jawed young man 
that alighted at the Beldingsville station late that Sat¬ 
urday night. And it was an even more determined, 
square-jawed young man that, before ten o’clock the 
next morning, stalked through the Sunday-quiet vil¬ 
lage streets and climbed the hill to the Harrington 
homestead. Catching sight of a loved and familiar 
flaxen coil of hair on a well-poised little head just 
disappearing into the summerhouse, the young man 
ignored the conventional front steps and doorbell, 
crossed the lawn, and strode through the garden 
paths until he came face to face with the owner of 
the flaxen coil of hair. 

“ Jimmy! ” gasped Pollyanna, falling back with 
startled eyes. “ Why, where did you — come from ? ” 

“ Boston. Last night. I had to see you, Polly- 
anna.” 

“ To — see — m-me ? ” Pollyanna was plainly 
fencing for time to regain her composure. Jimmy 
looked so big and strong and dear there in the door of 
the summerhouse that she feared her eyes had been 
surprised into a telltale admiration, if not more. 

“ Yes, Pollyanna; I wanted — that is, I thought — 
I mean, I feared— Oh, hang it all, Pollyanna, I 
277 


£78 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


can’t beat about the bush like this. I’ll have to come 
straight to the point. It’s just this. I stood aside be¬ 
fore, but I won’t now. It isn’t a case any longer of 
fairness. He isn’t crippled like Jamie. He’s got feet 
and hands and a head like mine, and if he wins he’ll 
have to win in a fair fight. I’ve got some rights! ” 

Pollyanna stared frankly. 

“ Jimmy Bean Pendleton, whatever in the world are 
you talking about?” she demanded. 

The young man laughed shamefacedly. 

“ No wonder you don’t know. It wasn’t very lucid, 
was it? But I don’t think I’ve been really lucid myself 
since yesterday — when I found out from Jamie him¬ 
self.” 

“ Found out — from Jamie! ” 

“ Yes. It was the prize that started it. You see, 
he’d just got one, and — ” 

“ Oh, I know about that,” interrupted Pollyanna, 
eagerly. “And wasn’t it splendid? Just think — the 
first one — three thousand dollars! I wrote him a 
letter last night. Why, when I saw his name, and 
realized it was Jamie — our Jamie — I was so excited 
I forgot all about looking for my name, and even when 
I couldn’t find mine at all, and knew that I hadn’t got 
any — I mean, I was so excited and pleased for Jamie 
that I — I forgot — er — everything else,” corrected 
Pollyanna, throwing a dismayed glance into Jimmy’s 
face, and feverishly trying to cover up the partial 
admission she had made. 

Jimmy, however, was too intent on his own prob¬ 
lem to notice hers. 



Jimmy and John 


279 


“ Yes, yes, ’twas fine, of course. I’m glad he got it. 
But Pollyanna, it was what he said afterward that I 
mean. You see, until then I’d thought that — that he 
cared — that you cared — for each other, I mean; 
and — ” 

“ You thought that Jamie and I cared for each 
other! ” exclaimed Pollyanna, into whose face now 
was stealing a soft, shy color. “ Why, Jimmy, it’s 
Sadie Dean. ’Twas always Sadie Dean. He used to 
talk of her to me by the hour. I think she likes him, 
too.” 

“Good! I hope she does; but, you see, I didn’t 
know. I thought ’twas Jamie — and you. And I 
thought that because he was — was a cripple, you 
know, that it wouldn’t be fair if I — if I stayed around 
and tried to win you myself.” 

Pollyanna stooped suddenly, and picked up a leaf 
at her feet. When she rose, her face was turned quite 
away. 

“ A fellow can’t — can’t feel square, you know, 
running a race with a chap that — that’s handicapped 
from the start. So I — I just stayed away and gave 
him his chance; though it ’most broke my heart to do 
it, little girl. It just did! Then yesterday morning 
I found out. But I found out something else, too. 
Jamie says there is — is somebody else in the case. 
But I can’t stand aside for him, Pollyanna. I can’t — 
even in spite of all he’s done for me. John Pendleton 
is a man, and he’s got two whole feet for the race. 
He’s got to take his chances. If you care for him — 
if you really care for him — ” 



280 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


But Pollyanna had turned, wild-eyed. 

“John Pendleton! Jimmy, what do you mean? 
What are you saying — about John Pendleton?” 

A great joy transfigured Jimmy’s face. He held out 
both his hands. 

“ Then you don’t — you don’t! I can see it in your 
eyes that you don’t — care! ” 

Pollyanna shrank back. She was white and trem¬ 
bling. 

“ Jimmy, what do you mean? What do you 
mean?” she begged piteously. 

“I mean — you don’t care for Uncle John, that 
way. Don’t you understand? Jamie thinks you do 
care, and that anyway he cares for you. And then 
I began to see it — that maybe he did. He’s always 
talking about you; and, of course, there was your 
mother — ” 

Pollyanna gave a low moan and covered her face 
with her hands. Jimmy came close and laid a caress¬ 
ing arm about her shoulders; but again Pollyanna 
shrank from him. 

“Pollyanna, little girl, don’t! You’ll break my 
heart,” he begged. “Don’t you care for me — any? 
Is it that, and you don’t want to tell me?” 

She dropped her hands and faced him. Her eyes 
had the hunted look of some wild thing at bay. 

“Jimmy, do you think — he cares for me — that 
way? ” she entreated, just above a whisper. 

Jimmy gave his head an impatient shake. 

“ Never mind that, Pollyanna, — now. I don’t 
know, of course. How should I? But, dearest, that 



Jimmy and John 


281 


isn’t the question. It’s you. If you don’t care for 
him, and if you’ll only give me a chance — half a 
chance to let me make you care for me — ” He 
caught her hand, and tried to draw her to him. 

“ No, no, Jimmy, I mustn’t! I can’t! ” With both 
her little palms she pushed him from her. 

“ Pollyanna, you don’t mean you do care for him ? ” 
Jimmy’s face whitened. 

“No; no, indeed — not that way,” faltered Polly¬ 
anna. “ But — don’t you see ? — if he cares for me, 
I’ll have to — to learn to, someway.” 

“ Pollyanna! ” 

“ Don’t! Don’t look at me like that, Jimmy! ” 

“ You mean you’d marry him, Pollyanna? ” 

“ Oh, no! — I mean — why — er — y-yes, I sup¬ 
pose so,” she admitted faintly. 

“Pollyanna, you wouldn’t! You couldn’t! Polly¬ 
anna, you — you’re breaking my heart.” 

Pollyanna gave a low sob. Her face was in her 
hands again. For a moment she sobbed on, chokingly; 
then, with a tragic gesture, she lifted her head and 
looked straight into Jimmy’s anguished, reproachful 
eyes. 

“ I know it, I know it,” she chattered frenziedly. 
“ I’m breaking mine, too. But I’ll have to do it. I’d 
break your heart, I’d break mine — but I’d never 
break his! ” 

Jimmy raised his head. His eyes flashed a sudden 
fire. His whole appearance underwent a swift and 
marvelous change. With a tender, triumphant cry he 
swept Pollyanna into his arms and held her close. 



282 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


“ Now I know you care for me! ” he breathed low 
in her ear. “ You said it was breaking your heart, 
too. Do you think I’ll give you up now to any man 
on earth? Ah, dear, you little understand a love like 
mine if you think I’d give you up now. Pollyanna, 
say you love me — say it with your own dear 
lips!” 

For one long minute Pollyanna lay unresisting in 
the fiercely tender embrace that encircled her; then 
with a sigh that was half content, half renunciation, 
she began to draw herself away. 

“ Yes, Jimmy, I do love you.” Jimmy’s arms 
tightened, and would have drawn her back to him; 
but something in the girl’s face forbade. “ I love you 
dearly. But I couldn’t ever be happy with you and 
feel that — Jimmy, don’t you see, dear? I’ll have to 
know — that I’m free, first.” 

“ Nonsense, Pollyanna! Of course you’re free!” 
Jimmy’s eyes were mutinous again. 

Pollyanna shook her head. 

“ Not with this hanging over me, Jimmy. Don’t 
you see? It was mother, long ago, that broke his 
heart — my mother. And all these years he’s lived 
a lonely, unloved life in consequence. If now he 
should come to me and ask me to make that up to him, 
I’d have to do it, Jimmy. I’d have to. I couldnlt 
refuse! Don’t you see?” 

But Jimmy did not see; he could not see. He would 
not see, though Pollyanna pleaded and argued long 
and tearfully. But Pollyanna, too, was obdurate, 
though so sweetly and heartbrokenly obdurate that 




Jimmy and John 


283 


Jimmy, in spite of his pain and anger, felt almost like 
turning comforter. 

“Jimmy, dear,” said Pollyanna, at last, “ we’ll have 
to wait. That’s all I can say now. I hope he doesn’t 
care; and I — I don’t believe he does care. But I’ve 
got to know. I’ve got to be sure. We’ll just have to 
wait, a little, till we find out, Jimmy — till we find 
out!” 

And to this plan Jimmy had to submit, though it 
was with a most rebellious heart. 

“ All right, little girl, it’ll have to be as you say, of 
course,” he despaired. “ But, surely, never before 
was a man kept waiting for his answer till the girl he 
loved, and who loved him, found out if the other man 
wanted her! ” 

“ I know; but, you see, dear, never before had the 
other man wanted her mother,” sighed Pollyanna, her 
face puckered into an anxious frown. 

“ Very well, I’ll go back to Boston, of course,” ac¬ 
ceded Jimmy reluctantly. “ But you needn’t think 
I’ve given up — because I haven’t. Nor I sha’n’t give 
up, just so long as I know you really care for me, 
my little sweetheart,” he finished, with a look that 
sent her palpitatingly into retreat, just out of reach of 
his arms. 



CHAPTER XXX 


JOHN PENDLETON TURNS THE KEY 

Jimmy went back to Boston that night in a state 
that was a most tantalizing commingling of happiness, 
hope, exasperation, and rebellion. Behind him he left 
a girl who was in a scarcely less enviable frame of 
mind; for Pollyanna, tremulously happy in the won¬ 
drous thought of Jimmy’s love for her, was yet so 
despairingly terrified at the thought of the possible 
love of John Pendleton, that there was not a thrill of 
joy that did not carry its pang of fear. 

Fortunately for all concerned, however, this state 
of affairs was not of long duration; for, as it chanced, 
John Pendleton, in whose unwitting hands lay the key 
to the situation, in less than a week after Jimmy’s 
hurried visit, turned that key in the lock, and opened 
the door of doubt. 

It was late Thursday afternoon that John Pendleton 
called to see Pollyanna. As it happened, he, like 
Jimmy, saw Pollyanna in the garden and came straight 
toward her. 

Pollyanna, looking into his face, felt a sudden sink¬ 
ing of the heart. 

“ It’s come — it’s come! ” she shivered; and invol¬ 
untarily she turned as if to flee. 

284 



u 


99 


INVOLUNTARILY SHE TURNED AS IF TO FLEE 














































































































































































* 










































John Pendleton Turns the Key 285 


“ Oh, Pollyanna; wait a minute, please,” called the 
man hastening his steps. “ You’re just the one I 
wanted to see. Come, can’t we go in here ? ” he sug¬ 
gested, turning toward the summerhouse. “ I want 
to speak to you about — something.” 

“ Why, y-yes, of course,” stammered Pollyanna, 
with forced gayety. Pollyanna knew that she was 
blushing, and she particularly wished not to blush just 
then. It did not help matters any, either, that he 
should have elected to go into the summerhouse for 
his talk. The summerhouse now, to Pollyanna, was 
sacred to certain dear memories of Jimmy. “ And 
to think it should be here — here!” she was shudder¬ 
ing frantically. But aloud she said, still gayly, “ It’s 
a lovely evening, isn’t it ? ” 

There was no answer. John Pendleton strode into 
the summerhouse and dropped himself into a rustic 
chair without even waiting for Pollyanna to seat her¬ 
self — a most unusual proceeding on the part of John 
Pendleton. Pollyanna, stealing a nervous glance at 
his face found it so startlingly like the old stern, sour 
visage of her childhood’s remembrance, that she ut¬ 
tered an involuntary exclamation. 

Still John Pendleton paid no heed. Still moodily 
he sat wrapped in thought. At last, however, he lifted 
his head and gazed somberly into Pollyanna’s startled 
eyes. 

“ Pollyanna.” 

“ Yes, Mr. Pendleton.” 

“ Do you remember the sort of man I was when 
you first knew me, years ago ? ” 



286 


Poiiyanna Grows Up 


“ Why, y-yes, I think so.” 

“ Delightfully agreeable specimen of humanity, 
wasn’t I?” 

In spite of her perturbation Poiiyanna smiled 
faintly. 

“I — /• liked you, sir.” Not until the words were 
uttered did Poiiyanna realize just how they would 
sound. She strove then, frantically, to recall or 
modify them and had almost added a “ that is, I mean, 
I liked you then!” when she stopped just in time: 
certainly that would not have helped matters any! She 
listened then, fearfully, for John Pendleton’s next 
words. They came almost at once. 

“ I know you did — bless your little heart! And 
it was that that was the saving of me. I wonder, 
Poiiyanna, if I could ever make you realize just what 
your childish trust and liking did for me.” 

Poiiyanna stammered a confused protest; but he 
brushed it smilingly aside. 

“ Oh, yes, it was! It was you, and no one else. I 
wonder if you remember another thing, too,” resumed 
the man, after a moment’s silence, during which 
Poiiyanna looked furtively, but longingly toward the 
door. “ I wonder if you remember my telling you 
once that nothing but a woman’s hand and heart, or a 
child’s presence could make a home.” 

Poiiyanna felt the blood rush to her face. 

“ Y-yes, n-no — I mean, yes, I remember it,” she 
stuttered; “ but I — I don’t think it’s always so now. 
I mean — that is, I’m sure your home now is — is 
lovely just as ’tis, and — ” 





John Pendleton Turns the Key 287 

“ But it’s my home I’m talking about, child,” in¬ 
terrupted the man, impatiently. “ Pollyanna, you 
know the kind of home I once hoped to have, and how 
those hopes were dashed to the ground. Don’t think, 
dear, I’m blaming your mother. I’m not. She but 
obeyed her heart, which was right; and she made the 
wiser choice, anyway, as was proved by the dreary 
waste I’ve made of life because of that disappoint¬ 
ment. After all, Pollyanna, isn’t it strange,” added 
John Pendleton, his voice growing tender, “ that it 
should be the little hand of her own daughter that led 
me into the path of happiness, at last ? ” 

Pollyanna moistened her lips convulsively. 

“ Oh, but Mr. Pendleton, I — I — ” 

Once again the man brushed aside her protests with 
a smiling gesture. 

“ Yes, it was, Pollyanna, your little hand in the long 
ago — you, and your glad game.” 

“ Oh-h! ” Pollyanna relaxed visibly in her seat. 
The terror in her eyes began slowly to recede. 

. “ And so all these years I’ve been gradually grow¬ 
ing into a different man, Pollyanna. But there’s one 
thing I haven’t changed in, my dear.” He paused, 
looked away, then turned gravely tender eyes back to 
her face. “ I still think it takes a woman’s hand and 
heart or a child’s presence to make a home.” 

“Yes; b-but you’ve g-got the child’s presence,” 
plunged in Pollyanna, the terror coming back to her 
eyes. “ There’s Jimmy, you know.” 

The man gave an amused laugh. 

“ I know; but — I don’t think even you would say 



288 


Poliyanna Grows Up 


that Jimmy is — is exactly a child's presence any 
longer,” he remarked. 

“ N-no, of course not.” 

“ Besides — Poliyanna, I’ve made up my mind. 
I’ve got to have the woman’s hand and heart.” His 
voice dropped, and trembled a little. 

“ Oh-h, have you?” Pollyanna’s fingers met and 
clutched each other in a spasmodic clasp. John Pen¬ 
dleton, however, seemed neither to hear nor see. He 
had leaped to his feet, and was nervously pacing up 
and down the little house. 

“ Poliyanna,” he stopped and faced her; “if — if 
you were I, and were going to ask the woman you 
loved to come and make your old gray pile of stone 
a home, how would you go to work to do it ? ” 

Poliyanna half started from her chair. Her eyes 
sought the door, this time openly, longingly. 

“ Oh, but, Mr. Pendleton, I wouldn’t do it at all, 
at all,” she stammered, a little wildly. “ I’m sure 
you’d be — much happier as — as you are.” 

The man stared in puzzled surprise, then laughed 
grimly. 

“ Upon my word, Poliyanna, is it — quite so bad 
as that ? ” he asked. 

“ B-bad ? ” Poliyanna had the appearance of being 
poised for flight. 

“ Yes. Is that just your way of trying to soften 
the blow of saying that you don’t think she’d have 
me, anyway?” 

“ Oh, n-no — no, indeed. She’d say yes — she’d 
have to say yes, you know,” explained Poliyanna, with 



John Pendleton Turns the Key 289 

terrified earnestness. “ But I’ve been thinking — I 
mean, I was thinking that if — if the girl didn’t love 
you, you really would be happier without her; and 

— ” At the look that came into John Pendleton’s 
face, Pollyanna stopped short. 

“ I shouldn’t want her, if she didn’t love me, Polly¬ 
anna.” 

“ No, I thought not, too.” Pollyanna began to look 
a little less distracted. 

“ Besides, she doesn’t happen to be a girl,” went on 
John Pendleton. “ She’s a mature woman who, pre¬ 
sumedly, would know her own mind.” The man’s 
voice was grave and slightly reproachful. 

“ Oh-h-h! Oh! ” exclaimed Pollyanna, the dawn¬ 
ing happiness in her eyes leaping forth in a flash of 
ineffable joy and relief. “ Then you love somebody 

— ” By an almost superhuman effort Pollyanna 
choked off the “ else ” before it left her delighted lips. 

“ Love somebody! Haven’t I just been telling you 
I did?” laughed John Pendleton, half vexedly. 
“ What I want to know is — can she be made to love 
me ? That’s where I was sort of — of counting on 
your help, Pollyanna. You see, she’s a dear friend of 
yours.” 

“ Is she?” gurgled Pollyanna. “ Then she’ll just 
have to love you. We’ll make her! Maybe she does, 
anyway, already. Who is she ? ” 

There was a long pause before the answer came. 

“ I believe, after all, Pollyanna, I won’t — yes, I 
will, too. It’s — can’t you guess ? — Mrs. Carew.” 

“ Oh! ” breathed Pollyanna, with a face of un- 





290 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


clouded joy. “How perfectly lovely! I’m so glad, 
glad, glad!” 

A long hour later Pollyanna sent Jimmy a letter. 
It was confused and incoherent —a series of half- 
completed, illogical, but shyly joyous sentences, out 
of which Jimmy gathered much: a little from what 
was written; more from what was left unwritten. 
After all, did he really need more than this? 

“ Oh, Jimmy, he doesn’t love me a bit. It’s some 
one else. I mustn’t tell you who it is — but her name 
isn’t Pollyanna.” 

Jimmy had just time to catch the seven o’clock 
train for Beldingsville — and he caught it. 



CHAPTER XXXI 


AFTER LONG YEARS 

Pollyanna was so happy that night after she had 
sent her letter to Jimmy that she could not quite keep 
it to herself. Always before going to bed she stepped 
into her aunt’s room to see if anything were needed. 
To-night, after the usual questions, she had turned to 
put out the light when a sudden impulse sent her back 
to her aunt’s bedside. A little breathlessly she dropped 
on her knees. 

“ Aunt Polly, I’m so happy I just had to tell some 
one. I want to tell you. May I ? ” 

“Tell me? Tell me what, child? Of course you 
may tell me. You mean, it’s good news — for 
me?” 

“ Why, yes, dear; I hope so,” blushed Pollyanna. 
“ I hope it will make you — glad, a little, for me, you 
know. Of course Jimmy will tell you himself all 
properly some day. But / wanted to tell you first.” 

“Jimmy!” Mrs. Chilton’s face changed percep¬ 
tibly. 

“ Yes, when — when he — he asks you for me,” 
stammered Pollyanna, with a radiant flood of color. 
“ Oh, I — I’m so happy, I had to tell you! ” 

“ Asks me for you! Pollyanna! ” Mrs. Chilton 
291 



292 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


pulled herself up in bed. “ You don’t mean to say 
there’s anything serious between you and — Jimmy 
Bean!” 

Pollyanna fell back in dismay. 

“ Why, auntie, I thought you liked Jimmy! ” 

“ So I do — in his place. But that place isn’t the 
husband of my niece.” 

“Aunt Polly!” 

“ Come, come, child, don’t look so shocked. This 
is all sheer nonsense, and I’m glad I’ve been able to 
stop it before it’s gone any further.” 

“ But, Aunt Polly, it has gone further,” quavered 
Pollyanna. “ Why, I — I already have learned to 
lo-c-care for him — dearly.” 

“ Then you’ll have to unlearn it, Pollyanna, for 
never, never will I give my consent to your marrying 
Jimmy Bean.” 

“ But — w-why, auntie ? ” 

“ First and foremost because we know nothing 
about him.” 

“ Why, Aunt Polly, we’ve always known him, ever 
since I was a little girl! ” 

“ Yes, and what was he? A rough little runaway 
urchin from an Orphans’ Home! We know nothing 
whatever about his people, and his pedigree.” 

“ But I’m not marrying his p-people and his 
p-pedigree! ” 

With an impatient groan Aunt Polly fell back on her 
pillow. 

“ Pollyanna, you’re making me positively ill. My 
heart is going like a trip hammer. I sha’n’t sleep a 



After Long Years 


293 


wink to-night. Can’t you let this thing rest till morn¬ 
ing ?” 

Pollyanna was on her feet instantly, her face all 
contrition. 

“ Why, yes — yes, indeed; of course, Aunt Polly! 
And to-morrow you’ll feel different, I’m sure. I’m 
sure you will,” reiterated the girl, her voice quivering 
with hope again, as she turned to extinguish the light. 

But Aunt Polly did not “ feel different ” in the 
morning. If anything, her opposition to the marriage 
was even more determined. In vain Pollyanna 
pleaded and argued. In vain she showed how deeply 
her happiness was concerned. Aunt Polly was obdu¬ 
rate. She would have none of the idea. She sternly 
admonished Pollyanna as to the possible evils of 
heredity, and warned her of the dangers of marrying 
into she knew not what sort of family. She even 
appealed at last to her sense of duty and gratitude 
toward herself, and reminded Pollyanna of the long 
years of loving care that had been hers in the home 
of her aunt, and she begged her piteously not to break 
her heart by this marriage as had her mother years 
before by her marriage. 

When Jimmy himself, radiant-faced and glowing¬ 
eyed, came at ten o’clock, he was met by a frightened, 
sob-shaken little Pollyanna that tried ineffectually to 
hold him back with two trembling hands. With 
whitening cheeks, but with defiantly tender arms that 
held her close, he demanded an explanation. 

“ Pollyanna, dearest, what in the world is the mean¬ 
ing of this? ” 




£94 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


“ Oh, Jimmy, Jimmy, why did you come, why did 
you come ? I was going to write and tell you straight 
away/’ moaned Pollyanna. 

“ But you did write me, dear. I got it yesterday 
afternoon, just in time to catch my train/’ 

“ No, no; — again, I mean. I didn’t know then 
that I — I couldn’t.” 

“ Couldn’t! Pollyanna,” — his eyes flamed into 
stern wrath, — “ you don’t mean to tell me there’s 
anybody else’s love you think you’ve got to keep me 
waiting for?” he demanded, holding her at arm’s 
length. 

“No, no, Jimmy! Don’t look at me like that. I 
can’t bear it! ” 

“Then what is it? What is it you can’t do?” 

“ I can’t — marry you.” 

“ Pollyanna, do you love me ? ” 

“ Yes. Oh, y-yes.” 

“ Then you shall marry me,” triumphed Jimmy, 
his arms enfolding her again. 

“ No, no, Jimmy, you don’t understand. It's — 
Aunt Polly,” struggled Pollyanna. 

“Aunt Polly!” 

“ Yes. She — won’t let me.” 

“ Ho! ” Jimmy tossed his head with a light laugh. 
“ We’ll fix Aunt Polly. She thinks she’s going to 
lose you, but we’ll just remind her that she — she’s 
going to gain a — a new nephew! ” he finished in 
mock importance. 

But Pollyanna did not smile. She turned her head 
hopelessly from side to side. 




After Long Years 


295 


“No, no, Jimmy, you don’t understand! She — 
she — oh, how can I tell you? — she objects to — to 
you — for — me” 

Jimmy’s arms relaxed a little. His eyes sobered. 

“ Oh, well, I suppose I can’t blame her for that. 
I’m no — wonder, of course,” he admitted con¬ 
strainedly. “ Still,” — he turned loving eyes upon her 

— “ I’d try to make you — happy, dear.” 

“ Indeed you would! I know you would,” pro¬ 
tested Pollyanna, tearfully. 

“ Then why not — give me a chance to try, Polly¬ 
anna, even if she — doesn’t quite approve, at first. 
Maybe in time, after we were married, we could win 
her over.” 

“ Oh, but I couldn’t — I couldn’t do that,” moaned 
Pollyanna, “ after what she’s said. I couldn’t — 
without her consent. You see, she’s done so much 
for me, and she’s so dependent on me. She isn’t well 
a bit, now, Jimmy. And, really, lately she’s been so 

— so loving, and she’s been trying so hard to — to 
play the game, you know, in spite of all her troubles. 
And she — she cried, Jimmy, and begged me not to 
break her heart as — as mother did long ago. And — 
and Jimmy, I — I just couldn’t, after all she’s done 
for me.” 

There was a moment’s pause; then, with a vivid 
red mounting to her forehead, Pollyanna spoke again, 
brokenly. 

“Jimmy, if you — if you could only tell Aunt 
Polly something about — about your father, and your 
people, and — ” 



296 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


Jimmy’s arms dropped suddenly. He stepped back 
a little. The color drained from his face. 

“ Is — that — it ? ” he asked. 

“ Yes.” Pollyanna came nearer, and touched his 
arm timidly. “Don’t think— It isn’t for me, 
Jimmy. I don’t care. Besides, I know that your 
father and your people were all — all fine and noble, 
because you are so fine and noble. But she — Jimmy, 
don’t look at me like that! ” 

But Jimmy, with a low moan had turned quite away 
from her. A minute later, with only a few choking 
words, which she could not understand, he had left 
the house. 

From the Harrington homestead Jimmy went 
straight home and sought out John Pendleton. He 
found him in the great crimson-hung library where, 
some years before, Pollyanna had looked fearfully 
about for the “ skeleton in John Pendleton’s closet.” 

“ Uncle John, do you remember that packet father 
gave me?” demanded Jimmy. 

“Why, yes. What’s the matter, son?” John 
Pendleton had given a start of surprise at sight of 
Jimmy’s face. 

“ That packet has got to be opened, sir.” 

“ But — the conditions! ” 

“ I can’t help it. It’s got to be. That’s all. Will 
you do it ? ” 

“ Why, y-yes, my boy, of course, if you insist; 
but — ” he paused helplessly. 

“ Uncle John, as perhaps you have guessed, I love 



After Long Years 


297 


Pollyanna. I asked her to be my wife, and she con¬ 
sented.” The elder man made a delighted exclama¬ 
tion, but the other did not pause, or change his sternly 
intent expression. “ She says now she can’t — marry 
me. Mrs. Chilton objects. She objects to me” 

“ Objects to you!” John Pendleton’s eyes flashed 
angrily. 

“ Yes. I found out why when — when Pollyanna 
begged if I couldn’t tell her aunt something about — 
about my father and my people.” 

“ Shucks! I thought Polly Chilton had more sense 
— still, it’s just like her, after all. The Harringtons 
have always been inordinately proud of race and fam¬ 
ily,” snapped John Pendleton. “ Well, could you?” 

“ Could I! It was on the end of my tongue to tell 
Pollyanna that there couldn’t have been a better father 
than mine was; then, suddenly, I remembered — the 
packet, and what it said. And I was afraid. I didn’t 
dare say a word till I knew what was inside that 
packet. There’s something dad didn’t want me to 
know till I was thirty years old — when I would be 
a man grown, and could stand anything. See ? 
There’s a secret somewhere in our lives. I’ve got to 
know that secret, and I’ve got to know it now.” 

“ But, Jimmy, lad, don’t look so tragic. It may be 
a good secret. Perhaps it’ll be something you’ll like 
to know.” 

“ Perhaps. But if it had been, would he have been 
apt to keep it from me till I was thirty years old? 
No! Uncle John, it was something he was trying to 
save me from till I was old enough to stand it and 




298 


Polly anna Grows Up 


not flinch. Understand, I’m not blaming dad. What¬ 
ever it was, it was something he couldn’t help, I’ll 
warrant. But what it was I’ve got to know. Will 
you get it, please? It’s in your safe, you know.” 

John Pendleton rose at once. 

“ I’ll get it,” he said. Three minutes later it lay in 
Jimmy’s hand; but Jimmy held it out at once. 

“ I would rather you read it, sir, please. Then tell 

_ yy 

me. 

“ But, Jimmy, I — very well.” With a decisive 
gesture John Pendleton picked up a paper-cutter, 
opened the envelope, and pulled out the contents. 
There was a package of several papers tied together, 
and one folded sheet alone, apparently a letter. This 
John Pendleton opened and read first. And as he 
read, Jimmy, tense and breathless, watched his face. 
He saw, therefore, the look of amazement, joy, and 
something else he could not name, that leaped into 
John Pendleton’s countenance. 

“Uncle John, what is it? What is it?” he de¬ 
manded. 

“ Read it — for yourself,” answered the man, 
thrusting the letter into Jimmy’s outstretched hand. 
And Jimmy read this : 

“ The enclosed papers are the legal proof that my 
boy Jimmy is really James Kent, son of John Kent, 
who married Doris Wetherby, daughter of William 
Wetherby of Boston. There is also a letter in which 
I explain to my boy why I have kept him from his 
mother’s family all these years. If this packet is 
opened by him at thirty years of age, he will read this 




After Long Years 


299 


letter, and I hope will forgive a father who feared 
to lose his boy entirely, so took this drastic course to 
keep him to himself. If it is opened by strangers, 
because of his death, I request that his mother’s people 
in Boston be notified at once, and the inclosed pack¬ 
age of papers be given, intact, into their hands. 

“John Kent.” 

Jimmy was pale and shaken when he looked up to 
meet John Pendleton’s eyes. 

“ Am I — the lost — Jamie? ” he faltered. 

“ That letter says you have documents there to 
prove it,” nodded the other. 

“ Mrs. Carew’s nephew? ” 

“ Of course.” 

“ But, why — what — I can’t realize it! ” There 
was a moment’s pause before into Jimmy’s face 
flashed a new joy. “ Then, surely now I know who 
I am! I can tell — Mrs. Chilton something of my 
people.” 

“ I should say you could,” retorted John Pendleton, 
dryly. “ The Boston Wetherbys can trace straight 
back to the crusades, and I don’t know but to the year 
one. That ought to satisfy her. As for your father 
— he came of good stock, too, Mrs. Carew told me, 
though he was rather eccentric, and not pleasing to 
the family, as you know, of course.” 

“ Yes. Poor dad! And what a life he must have 
lived with me all those years — always dreading pur¬ 
suit. I can understand — lots of things, now, that 
used to puzzle me. A woman called me ‘ Jamie/ once. 




300 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


Jove! how angry he was! I know now why he hur¬ 
ried me away that night without even waiting for 
supper. Poor dad! It was right after that he was 
taken sick. He couldn’t use his hands or his feet, 
and very soon he couldn’t talk straight. Something 
ailed his speech. I remember when he died he was 
trying to tell me something about this packet. I be¬ 
lieve now he was telling me to open it, and go to my 
mother’s people; but I thought then he was just tell¬ 
ing me to keep it safe. So that’s what I promised 
him. But it didn’t comfort him any. It only seemed 
to worry him more. You see, I didn’t understand. 
Poor dad! ” 

“ Suppose we take a look at these papers,” sug¬ 
gested John Pendleton. “ Besides, there’s a letter 
from your father to you, I understand. Don’t you 
want to read it ? ” 

“Yes, of course. And then — ” the young fellow 
laughed shamefacedly and glanced at the clock — “I 
was wondering just how soon I could go back — to 
Pollyanna.” 

A thoughtful frown came to John Pendleton’s face. 
He glanced at Jimmy, hesitated, then spoke. 

“ I know you want to see Pollyanna, lad, and I 
don’t blame you; but it strikes me that, under the cir¬ 
cumstances, you should go first to — Mrs. Carew, 
and take these.” He tapped the papers before him. 

Jimmy drew his brows together and pondered. 

“All right, sir, I will,” he agreed resignedly. 

“ And if you don’t mind, I’d like to go with you,” 
further suggested John Pendleton, a little diffidently. 



301 


_ After Long Years 

I I have a little matter of my own that I’d like 
to see your aunt about. Suppose we go down to¬ 
day on the three o’clock ? ” 

“ Good! We will, sir. Gorry! And so I’m Jamie! 
I can’t grasp it yet! ” exclaimed the young man, 
springing to his feet, and restlessly moving about the 
room. “ I wonder, now,” he stopped, and colored 
boyishly, “ do you think — Aunt Ruth — will mind 
— very much ? ” 

John Pendleton shook his head. A hint of the old 
somberness came into his eyes. 

“ Hardly, my boy. But — I’m thinking of myself. 
How about it? When you’re her boy, where am I 
coming in ? ” 

“ You! Do you think anything could put you one 
side?” scoffed Jimmy, fervently. “ You needn’t 
worry about that. And she won’t mind. She has 
Jamie, you know, and — ” He stopped short, a 
dawning dismay in his eyes. “ By George! Uncle 
John, I forgot — Jamie. This is going to be tough 
on — Jamie! ” 

“Yes, I’d thought of that. Still, he’s legally 
adopted, isn’t he ? ” 

“ Oh, yes; it isn’t that. It’s the fact that he isn’t 
the real Jamie himself — and he with his two poor 
useless legs! Why, Uncle John, it’ll just about kill 
him. I’ve heard him talk. I know. Besides, Polly- 
anna and Mrs. Carew both have told me how he 
feels, how sure he is, and how happy he is. Great 
Scott! I can’t take away from him this — But what 
can I do ? ” 





302 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


“ I don’t know, my boy. I don’t see as there’s any¬ 
thing you can do, but what you are doing.” 

There was a long silence. Jimmy had resumed his 
nervous pacing up and down the room. Suddenly 
he wheeled, his face alight. 

“ There is a way, and I’ll do it. I know Mrs. 
Carew will agree. We won’t tell! We won’t tell 
anybody but Mrs. Carew herself, and — and Polly¬ 
anna and her aunt. I’ll have to tell them,” he added 
defensively. 

“ You certainly will, my boy. As for the rest — ” 
John Pendleton paused doubtfully. 

“ It’s nobody’s business.” 

“ But, remember, you are making quite a sacri¬ 
fice— in several ways. I want you to weigh it well.” 

“ Weigh it? I have weighed it, and there’s nothing 
in it — with Jamie on the other side of the scales, sir. 
I just couldn’t do it. That’s all.” 

“ I don’t blame you, and I think you’re right,” de¬ 
clared John Pendleton heartily. “ Furthermore, I 
believe Mrs. Carew will agree with you, particularly 
as she r ll know now that the real Jamie is found at 
last.” 

“ You know she’s always said she’d seen me some¬ 
where,” chuckled Jimmy. “ Now how soon does that 
train go? I’m ready.” 

“ Well, I’m not,” laughed John Pendleton. “ Luck¬ 
ily for me it doesn’t go for some hours yet, anyhow,” 
he finished, as he got to his feet and left the room. t 





CHAPTER XXXII 


A NEW ALADDIN 

Whatever were John Pendleton’s preparations for 
departure — and they were both varied and hurried — 
they were done in the open, with two exceptions. 
The exceptions were two letters, one addressed to 
Pollyanna, and one to Mrs. Polly Chilton. These 
letters, together with careful and minute instructions, 
were given into the hands of Susan, his housekeeper, 
to be delivered after they should be gone. But of all 
this Jimmy knew nothing. 

The travelers were nearing Boston when John 
Pendleton said to Jimmy: 

“ My boy, I’ve got one favor to ask — or rather, 
two. The first is that we say nothing to Mrs. Carew 
until to-morrow afternoon; the other is that you al¬ 
low me to go first and be your — er — ambassador, 
you yourself not appearing on the scene until perhaps, 
say—four o’clock. Are you willing?” 

“ Indeed I am,” replied Jimmy, promptly; “ not 
only willing, but delighted. I’d been wondering how 
I was going to break the ice, and I’m glad to have 
somebody else do it.” 

“ Good! Then I’ll try to get — your aunt on the 
303 



304 Pollyanna Grows Up 

telephone to-morrow morning and make my appoint- 
ment.” 

True to his promise, Jimmy did not appear at the 
Carew mansion until four o’clock the next afternoon. 
Even then he felt suddenly so embarrassed that he 
walked twice by the house before he summoned suf¬ 
ficient courage to go up the steps and ring the bell. 
Once in Mrs. Carew’s presence, however, he was soon 
his natural self, so quickly did she set him at his ease, 
and so tactfully did she handle the situation. To be 
sure, at the very first, there were a few tears, and a 
few incoherent exclamations. Even John Pendleton 
had to reach a hasty hand for his handkerchief. But 
before very long a semblance of normal tranquillity 
was restored, and only the tender glow in Mrs. 
Carew’s eyes, and the ecstatic happiness in Jimmy’s 
and John Pendleton’s was left to mark the occasion 
as something out of the ordinary. 

“ And I think it’s so fine of you — about Jamie! ” 
exclaimed Mrs. Carew, after a little. “ Indeed, 
Jimmy—(I shall still call you Jimmy, for obvious 
reasons; besides, I like it better, for you) —indeed 
I think you’re just right, if you’re willing to do it. 
And I’m making some sacrifice myself, too,” she went 
on tearfully, “ for I should be so proud to introduce 
you to the world as my nephew.” 

“ And, indeed, Aunt Ruth, I — ” At a half-stifled 
exclamation from John Pendleton, Jimmy stopped 
short. He saw then that Jamie and Sadie Dean 
stood just inside the door. Jamie’s face was very 
white. 




A New Aladdin 


305 


“Aunt Ruth!” he exclaimed, looking from one to 
the other with startled eyes. “Aunt Ruth! You 
don’t mean — ” 

All the blood receded from Mrs. Carew’s face, and 
from Jimmy’s, too. John Pendleton, however, ad¬ 
vanced jauntily. 

“ Yes, Jamie; why not? I was going to tell you 
soon, anyway, so I’ll tell you now.” (Jimmy gasped 
and stepped hastily forward, but John Pendleton 
silenced him with a look.) “Just a little while ago 
Mrs. Carew made me the happiest of men by saying 
yes to a certain question I asked. Now, as Jimmy 
calls me 4 Uncle John,’ why shouldn’t he begin right 
away to call Mrs. Carew ‘ Aunt Ruth ’ ? ” 

“ Oh! Oh-h! ” exclaimed Jamie, in plain delight, 
while Jimmy, under John Pendleton’s steady gaze just 
managed to save the situation by not blurting out 
his surprise and pleasure. Naturally, too, just then, 
blushing Mrs. Carew became the center of every 
one’s interest, and the danger point was passed. Only 
Jimmy heard John Pendleton say low in his ear, a 
bit later: 

“ So you see, you young rascal, I’m not going to 
lose you, after all. We shall both have you now.” 

Exclamations and congratulations were still at their 
height, when Jamie, a new light in his eyes, turned 
without warning to Sadie Dean. 

“ Sadie, I’m going to tell them now,” he declared 
triumphantly. Then, with the bright color in Sadie’s 
face telling the tender story even before Jamie’s eager 
lips could frame the words, more congratulations and 



306 


Pollyanna Grows Up 


exclamations were in order, and everybody was laugh¬ 
ing and shaking hands with everybody else. 

Jimmy, however, very soon began to eye them all 
aggrievedly, longingly. 

“ This is all very well for you” he complained 
then. “ You each have each other. But where do I 
come in? I can just tell you, though, that if only a 
certain young lady I know were here, I should have 
something to tell you , perhaps.” 

“ Just a minute, Jimmy,” interposed John Pendle¬ 
ton. “ Let’s play I was Aladdin, and let me rub the 
lamp. Mrs. Carew, have I your permission to ring 
for Mary? ” 

“ Why, y-yes, certainly,” murmured that lady, in a 
puzzled surprise that found its duplicate on the faces 
of the others. 

A few moments later Mary stood in the doorway. 

“ Did I hear Miss Pollyanna come in a short time 
ago ? ” asked John Pendleton. 

“ Yes, sir. She is here.” 

“ Won’t you ask her to come down, please.” 

“ Pollyanna here! ” exclaimed an amazed chorus, 
as Mary disappeared. Jimmy turned very white, then 
very red. 

“ Yes. I sent a note to her yesterday by my house¬ 
keeper. I took the liberty of asking her down for a 
few days to see you, Mrs. Carew. I thought the 
little girl needed a rest and a holiday; and my house¬ 
keeper has instructions to remain and care for Mrs. 
Chilton. I also wrote a note to Mrs. Chilton her¬ 
self,” he added, turning suddenly to Jimmy, with un- 





“ * i'm glad, glad , GLAD for — everything now i '” 











A New Aladdin 


307 


mistakable meaning in his eyes. “ And I thought 
after she read what I said, that she’d let Pollyanna 
come. It seems she did, for — here she is.” 

And there she was in the doorway, blushing, starry- 
eyed, yet withal just a bit shy and questioning. 

“ Pollyanna, dearest! ” It was Jimmy who sprang 
forward to meet her, and who, without one minute’s 
hesitation, took her in his arms and kissed her. 

“ Oh, Jimmy, before all these people!” breathed 
Pollyanna in embarrassed protest. 

“ Pooh! I should have kissed you then, Pollyanna, 
if you’d been straight in the middle of — of Wash¬ 
ington Street itself,” vowed Jimmy. “ For that mat¬ 
ter, look at — ‘ all these people ’ and see for yourself 
if you need to worry about them.” 

And Pollyanna looked; and she saw: 

Over by one window, backs carefully turned, Jamie 
and Sadie Dean; over by another window, backs 
also carefully turned, Mrs. Carew and John Pendle¬ 
ton. 

Pollyanna smiled — so adorably that Jimmy kissed 
her again. 

“ Oh, Jimmy, isn’t it all beautiful and wonderful? ” 
she murmured softly. “ And Aunt Polly — she 
knows everything now; and it’s all right. I think it 
would have been all right, anyway. She was begin¬ 
ning to feel so bad — for me. Now she’s so glad. 
And I am, too. Why, Jimmy, I’m glad, glad , glad 
for — everything, now! ” 

Jimmy caught his breath with a joy that hurt. 

“ God grant, little girl, that always it may be so — 



308 


PoUyanna Grows Up 


with you,” he choked unsteadily, his arms holding her 
close. 

“ I’m sure it will,” sighed Pollyanna, with shining 
eyes of confidence. 






SMILES, A ROSE OF THE 
CUMBERLANDS 

U)y Eliot Harlow Robinson 

Author of “Man Proposes” 

Cloth decorative, i2mo, illustrated, $1.50 


Smiles is a girl that is sure to make friends. Her 
real name is Rose, but the rough folk of the Cumber- 
lands preferred their own way of addressing her, for 
her smile was so bright and winning that no other name 
suited her so well. 

Smiles was not a native of the Cumberlands, and her 
parentage is one of the interesting mysteries of the 
story. Young Dr. MacDonald saw more in her than 
the mere untamed, untaught child of the mountains 
and when, due to the death of her foster parents a 
guardian became necessary, he was selected. Smiles 
developed into a charming, serious-minded young wo¬ 
man, and the doctor’s warm friend, Dr. Bently, falls in 
love with her. 

We do not want to detract from the pleasure of 
reading this story by telling you how this situation was 
met, either by Smiles or Dr. MacDonald — but there 
is a surprise or two for the reader. 

Press opinions on “Man Proposes”: 

“ Readers will find not only an unusually interest¬ 
ing story, but one of the most complicated romances 
ever dreamed of. Among other things the story gives 
a splendid and realistic picture of high social life in 
Newport, where many of the incidents of the plot are 
staged in the major part of the book.” — The Bookman. 

“ It is well written; the characters are real people and 
the whole book has ‘ go.’ ” — Louisville Post. 












TWEEDIE, THE STORY OF 
A TRUE HEART 

{F$y Isla May Mullins 

Author of “ The Blossom Shop Stories ,” etc. 
Cloth decorative, i2mo, illustrated, $1.63 


In this story Mrs. Mullins has given us another de¬ 
lightful story of the South. 

The Carlton family — lovable old Professor Carl¬ 
ton, and his rather wilful daughter Ruth — twenty- 
three years old and with decided ideas as to her future 
— decide to move to the country in order to have more 
time to devote to writing. 


Many changes come to them while in the country, 
the greatest of which is Tweedie — a simple, unpreten¬ 
tious little body who is an optimist through and 
through — but does not know it. In a subtle, amus¬ 
ing way Tweedie makes her influence felt. At flrst 
some people would consider her a pest, but would 
finally agree with the Carlton family that she was 
“ Unselfishness Incarnate.” It is the type of story 
that will entertain and amuse both old and young. 

The press has commented on Mrs. Mullins’ previous 
books as follows: 


“ Frankly and wholly romance is this book, and 
lovable — as is a fairy tale properly told. And the 
book’s author has a style that’s all her own, that 
strikes one as praiseworthily original throughout.” — 
Chicago Inter-Ocean. 


“ A rare and gracious picture of the unfolding of life 
for the young girl, told with a delicate sympathy and 
understanding that must touch alike the hearts of 
young and old.” — Louisville ( Ky .) Times. 





Author of “Blue Bonnet — Debutante” etc. 
Cloth decorative, i2mo, illustrated 0 $1.50 


Henrietta was the victim of circumstances. It was 
not her fault that her father, cut off from his expected 
inheritance because of his marriage, was unexpectedly 
thrown upon his own resources, nor that he proved to 
be a weakling who left his wife and daughter to shift 
for themselves, nor that her mother took refuge in 
Colorado far away from their New England friends and 
acquaintances. Youth, however, will overcome much, 
and when Richard Bently appears in the mountains, 
life takes on a new interest for Henrietta. 

When her mother dies Henrietta goes to live with 
Mrs. Lovell, who knew her father years ago in the 
little Vermont town. Mrs. Lovell determines to do 
what she can to secure for Henrietta the place in 
society and the inheritance that is rightfully hers. 
The means employed and the success attained — but 
that’s the story. 

“ Only Henrietta ” is written in the happy vein that 
has secured for Mrs. Richards a host of friends and 
admirers, and is sure to duplicate the earlier suc¬ 
cesses achieved for the young people by the Blue 
Bonnet Series. 

“The chief charm of the book is that it contains so 
much of human nature and it is a book that will gladden 
the hearts of many girl readers because of its charming 
air of comradeship and reality.” — The Churchman, 
Detroit, Mich. 











Author of “ The World’s Greatest Military Spies and 
Secret Service Agents” “ The Mystery of the 
Red Flame,” “ The Strange Adventures 
of Bromley Barnes,” etc . 

Cloth decorative, iemo, illustrated, $1.65 


Bromley Barnes, retired chief of the Secret Service, 
an important State document, a green wallet, the 
Ambassador’s trunk — these are the ingredients, which, 
properly mixed, and served in attractive format and 
binding, produce a draught that will keep you awake 
long past your regular bedtime. 

Mr. Barton is master of the mystery story, and in this 
absorbing narrative the author has surpassed his best 
previous successes. 

“It would be difficult to find a collection of more 
interesting tales of mystery so well told. The author 
is crisp, incisive and inspiring. The book is the best 
of its kind in recent years and adds to the author’s 
already high reputation.” — New York Tribune . 

“The story is full of life and movement, and pre¬ 
sents a variety of interesting characters. It is well pro¬ 
portioned and subtly strong in its literary aspects and 
quality. This volume adds great weight to the claim 
that Mr. Barton is among America’s greatest novelists 
of the romantic school; and in many ways he is re¬ 
garded as one of the most versatile and interesting 
writers.” — Boston Post. 


















THE BUSINESS CAREER 
OF PETER FLINT 

By Harold Whitehead 


Assistant Professor of Business Method, The College 
of Business Administration, Boston University, 
author of “ Dawson Black, Retail Merchant /' 
“Principles of Salesmanshipetc . 

Illustrated, cloth, i2mo, $1.65 


As Assistant Professor of Business Method in Boston 
University’s famous College of Business Administration, 
the author’s lectures have attracted widespread atten¬ 
tion, and the popularity of his stories of business life, 
under the title of “ The Business Career of Peter Flint,” 
which have appeared serially in important trade mag¬ 
azines and newspapers all over the country, has created 
an insistent demand for their book publication. 

The public demand for these stories compelled the 
author to continue them so long that, were they all 
published in book form, they would constitute a set of 
several volumes. By careful and scrutinizing editorial 
work the author has recast the very best of this material 
for book publication, the result being a story that is 
virile, compelling and convincing as it leads the reader 
through the maze of business entanglements. 

A New York business man wrote: “ I have read with 
much interest the ‘ Career of Peter Flint,’ appearing in 
the Evening Sun. 

“Having come to New York fresh from college 
twelve years ago, I appreciate fully Peter’s experience. 
I want to say that I think your knowledge of human 
nature almost uncanny.” 


83KOB 












ROLLO’S JOURNEY TO 
WASHINGTON 

{F$y Richard D. Ware 


Illustrated, with unique woodcuts by Robert Seaver. 
Price $1^5 



The boy of yesterday — the man of today — knows 
the Rollo books, and is familiar with the method by 
which the mind of young Master Mollycoddle was 
improved by the guidance and precepts of his father 
and Uncle George. Those who survived such a course 
of purification and still live will enjoy this story of 
Rollo’s journey to our national capital. 

It is not written for the young in years, but for the 
young in heart — for the good citizen who can see the 
funny side of a situation that is serious, and can laugh 
at the mistakes and foibles of our great men of today 
without malice or viciousness. 

The book is about the Great War which has caused 
so many tears of sorrow, and the author’s only desire 
is to replace those bitter tears with tears of mirth. 







Selections from 
The Page Company’s 
List of Fiction 


WORKS OF 

ELEANOR H. PORTER 

Each, one volume, cloth decorative, 12 mo, illustrated, $ 1.75 

POLLYANNA: The GLAD Book (430,000) 

Trade Mark Trade" - ”””"Mark 

Mr. Leigh Mitchell Hodges, The Optimist, in an editorial for 
the Philadelphia North American, says: “And when, after 
Pollyanna has gone away, you get her letter saying she is 
going to take ‘eight steps ’ tomorrow — well, I don’t know just 
what you may do, but I know of one person who buried his 
face in his hands and shook with the gladdest sort of sadness 
and got down on his knees and thanked the Giver of all 
gladness for Pollyanna.” 

POLLYANNA GROWS UP: The Second GLAD Book 

Trade Mark ( 220 , 000 ) Trade . ”'Mark 

When the story of Pollyanna told in The Glad Book was 
ended, a great cry of regret for the vanishing “ Glad Girl ” 
went up all over the country — and other countries, too. Now 
Pollyanna appears again, just as sweec and joyous-hearted, 
more grown up and more lovable. 

“Take away frowns! Put down the worries! Stop fidgeting 
and disagreeing and grumbling! Cheer up, everybody! Polly¬ 
anna has come back! ” — Christian Herald. 


The GLAD Book Calendar 

Trade. Mark 

THE POLLYANNA CALENDAR 

Trade Mark 

(This calendar is issued annually; the calendar for the new 
year being ready about Sept. 1st of the preceding year. 

Decorated and printed in colors. $L 50 

« There is a message of cheer on every page, and the calen¬ 
dar is beautifully illustrated.” — Kansas Gtiv Star. 








2 


THE PAGE COMPANY'S 


WORKS OF ELEANOR H. PORTER 0 Continued ) 

MISS BILLY (22nd printing) 

Cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color from a 
painting by G. Tyng $1.75 

“There is something altogether fascinating about ‘Miss 
Billy,’ some inexplicable feminine characteristic that seems to 
demand the individual attention of the reader from the moment 
we open the book until we reluctantly turn the last page.”— 
Boston Transcript. 

MISS BILLY’S DECISION (15th printing) 

Cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color from a 
painting by Henry W. Moore. 

$1.75 

“The story is written in bright, clever style and has plenty 
of action and humor. Miss Billy is nice to know and so are 
her friends.” —New Haven Times Leader. 

MISS BILLY — MARRIED (12th printing) 

Cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color from a 
painting by W. Haskell Coffin. 

$1.75 

“Although Pollyanna is the only copyrighted glad girl, Miss 
Billy is just as glad as the younger figure and radiates just 
as much gladness. She disseminates joy so naturally that we 
wonder why all girls are not like her.”— Boston Transcript. 

SIX STAR RANCH (20thPrinting) 

Cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated bv R. Farrington Elwell. 

$1.75 

“ ‘Six Star Ranch’ bears all the charm of the author's genius 
and is about a little girl down in Texas who practices the ‘Polly¬ 
anna Philosophy’ with irresistible success. The book is one of 
the kindliest things, if not the best, that the author of the Polly¬ 
anna books has done. It is a welcome addition to the fast¬ 
growing family of Glad Books.”— Howard Russell Bangs in the 
Boston Post. 

CROSS CURRENTS 

Cloth decorative, illustrated. $ 1.35 

“To one who enjoys a story of life as it is to-day, with its 
sorrows as well as its triumphs, this volume is sure to appeal.” 
— Book News Monthly. 

THE TURN OF THE TIDE 

Cloth decorative, illustrated. $1.35 

“A very beautiful book showing the influence that went to 
the developing of the life of a dear little girl into a true and 
good woman.”— Herald and Presbyter , Cincinnati , Ohio. 




LIST OF FICTION 


8 


WORKS OF 

L. M. MONTGOMERY 

THE FOUR ANNE BOOKS 

Each, one volume, cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated, $1.65 

ANNE OF GREEN GABLES (45th printing) 

“ In ‘ Anne of Green Gables ’ you will find the dearest and 
most moving and delightful child since the imniotcal Alice.'* — 
Mark Twain in a letter to Francis Wilson. 

ANNE OF AVONLEA (30th printing) 

“ A book to lift the spirit and send the pessimist into bank¬ 
ruptcy ! ” — Meredith Nicholson. 

CHRONICLES OF AVONLEA (8th printing) 

“A story of decidedly unusual conception r."u, interest.** — 
Baltimore Sun. 

ANNE OF THE ISLAND (15th printing) 

“ It has been well worth while to watch the growing up of 
Anne, and the privilege of being on intimate terms with her 
throughout the process has been properly valued.” — New 
York Herald, 


Each, one volume, cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated, $1.50 

THE STORY GIRL (10th printing) 

“ A book that holds one's interest and keeps a kindly smile 
upon one’s lips and in one’s heart.” — Chicago Inter-Ocean. 

KILMENY OF THE ORCHARD (13th printing) 

“ A story bom in the heart of Arcadia and brimful of the 
sweet life of the primitive environment.” — Boston Herald. 

THE GOLDEN ROAD (6th printing) 

“ It is a simple, tender tale, touched to higher notes, now 
and then, by delicate hints of romance, tragedy and pathos.** — 
Chicago Record-Herald. 




4 


THE PAGE COMPANY'S 


NOVELS BY 


ISLA MAY MULLINS 


Each, one volume, cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated, $1.65 

THE BLOSSOM SHOP: A Story of the South 

“ Frankly and wholly romance is this book, and lovable — as 
is a fairy tale properly told.” — Chicago Inter-Ocean. 

ANNE OF THE BLOSSOM SHOP: Or, the Growing 
Up of Anne Carter 

“ A charming portrayal of the attractive life of the South, 
refreshing as a breeze that blows through a pine forest.” — 
Albany Times-Union. 

ANNE’S WEDDING 

“ The story is most beautifully told. It brings in most 
charming people, and presents a picture of home life that is 
most appealing in love and affection.” — Every Evening, Wil¬ 
mington, Del. 

THE MT. BLOSSOM GIRLS 

“ In the writing of the book the author is at her best as a 
story teller. The humor that ripples here and there, the 
dramatic scenes that stir, and the golden thread of romance 
that runs through it all, go to make a marked success. It is a 
fitting climax to the series.” — Reader. 


NOVELS BY 

DAISY RHODES CAMPBELL 

THE FIDDLING GIRL 

Cloth decorative, illustrated $1.65 

“A thoroughly enjoyable tale, written in a delightful vein 
of sympathetic comprehension.” — Boston Herald. 

THE PROVING OF VIRGINIA 

Cloth decorative, illustrated $1.65 

“ A book which contributes so much of freshness, enthusiasm, 
and healthy life to offset the usual offerings of modern fiction, 
deserves all the praise which can be showered upon it.” — 
Kindergarten Review. 

THE VIOLIN LADY 

Cloth decorative, illustrated $1.65 

“ The author’s style remains simple and direct, as in her pre¬ 
ceding books, and her frank affection for her attractive heroine 
will be shared by many others.” — Boston Transcript. 
























































































































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Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing Agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: 



JAN 1997 


0BKKEEPER 


'' &'■' r ' i -'t 2 u -P 






PRESERVATION TECHNOLOGIES, INC. 
111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Twp., PA 16066 
(412) 779-2111 

























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